I turn slowly at the familiar sound of Kruger’s voice.
“Fantastic. Well, I’ll leave you in his capable hands. Remember, everything you need to know is in that pamphlet I gave you, but please don’t hesitate to call or come back if you have any issues. Take care now.”
She’s gone before I can get a word in edgeways.
“Come on, let’s get you in the truck.”
“What the fuck? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He leans over me, his rough hand sliding under my jaw before I can turn away. “I’m just taking you home. I don’t think that nurse was going to let you leave in a cab, Del.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What, Del? It’s your name. Everyone calls you Del.”
“No. My family called me Del. People who love and care for me called me Del. I’m Delphi to you.”
He winces, but I don’t let it faze me. It’s hard to process anything but rage when I’m around this man, and I hate it. I always feel so out of control around him.
He moves around to the back of the chair and wheels me over to the truck, which has me silently cursing. I can’t argue with him here and risk someone coming out and making me stay. I have no doubt Kruger will happily tell staff I lied about having someone at home to help me. Heck, I don’t have a home anymore, and staying at my dad’s place for long really isn’t an option. It’s too remote, and in the state I’m in, I can’t drive.
Feeling frustrated, I bite my tongue. If he takes me to a hotel, which was my plan all along, I can rest for a couple of weeks while I figure out what to do next. If things get really bad, I can always look into hiring someone to help me out.
He moves around me and opens the passenger side door as I gingerly get to my feet. My head swims, which seems to be the new norm, but Kruger is right there to steady me. He swoops me up into his arms and gently lowers me into the passenger seat before I can protest. I stare at him with my mouth open because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be thinking or feeling right now.
He reaches over and straps me in before pulling away and closing the door.
I let out a shaky breath as I watch him push the wheelchair inside the hospital doors. “This is bad. This is so fucking bad. You hate this man, remember. He hurt you. They all fucking hurt you. And if you let them, Delphi, they’ll hurt you all over again,” I scold myself, needing to get my shit together.
It’s not the best pep talk, but it gives me enough to square my shoulders and keep my emotions locked down as he jogs back to the truck and climbs in.
“You ready to get out of here?”
I nod before leaning my head against the headrest and turning slightly to look out the side window. He starts the truck, the loud rumbling of the engine comforting after the hustle and bustle of the hospital. Before I know it, I feel myself drifting off—something that happens more frequently with me right now. Heck, I’ve fallen asleep mid-conversation. The doctor says it’s all standard stuff to expect after the kind of injuries I sustained. Still, I feel old before my time, needing an afternoon nap to make it through the day when I’m used to surviving on four hours of sleep and a pot of coffee.
I feel the truck pull over and crack my eyes open.
“I’m just gonna run in and fill your prescription.”
“’Kay,” I mutter, not fighting him on it. I don’t have the energy to get up and grab them myself right now, and I know I’ll need them later.
“You gonna be okay by yourself for a minute?”
I snort. “I’m always by myself,” I whisper before sleep claims me once more.
I stir when I feel myself being carried, turning into the person holding me and snuggling into their heat. Hospital rooms are always so cold, yet they give you stupid paper-thin gowns and sheets to cover yourself with. It’s as if they want you to catch pneumonia.
I don’t want to think about it too much. I want to stay in the warmth and ignore the headache that’s beginning to form. I feel myself being lowered onto what can only be described as a cloud. I moan in appreciation when something soft and warm covers me. For the briefest second, it almost feels like lips press against my forehead before I allow myself to float away again.
The next time I wake up, I’m clear-headed and in pain, unfortunately. Though it’s that pain that keeps the fog at bay.
I crack my eyes open, glad it’s dark. I’m not sure I can handle much light right now. I gently ease myself into a sitting position, but even that takes a lot out of me. My skin feels clammy, and my arms shake as I use them for balance to swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My stomach pitches and churns—from the pain or lack of food. Not being able to see much isn’t helping, so I shakily get to my feet. When I’m sure I’m not about to fall on my ass, I make my way across the room to the window, figuring the streetlights will be enough to illuminate the room without plowing a pickaxe into my temple.
Pulling the drapes away, I look out expecting to see the motel parking lot. Instead, all I can see are trees, and I can only see those because there’s a full moon tonight.
How long did I sleep for, and where the hell am I? The motel I looked at had a strip mall behind it and a highway in front. I don’t remember seeing a single tree when I checked it out online and booked my room for the week.
