“You are?” He doesn't see me as a nuisance? I’ve always been made to feel like I was. With my foster parents, my friends, and with Stephen.
“Yes. I’m grateful too.” He squeezes my wrist.
My heart beams and I feel like I’m floating up into the clouds. What’s happening to me? What really is this between us, and why does it feel so right but also wrong? Isn’t he finding ways to extend my stay, slowing down the process of me healing on purpose?
I shake off the thought as he hands me a pain pill and a fresh gown that feels like it was in a blanket warmer. No. He’s using up all his resources on me, and the more time with me means less time with people he’d rather spend his days with. I’m the reason I’m here, and all the pain that comes with being accident prone is all on me. Not anyone else.
“You need anything else before we keep going with our routine?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Good. Turn around and let me take your temperature.”
“Is . . . are we not going back to the other way yet?”
“No. Not when we have a chance at more accuracy. We can also check if you need more pressure relief too while we’re at it.”
I choke on my next breath, and because I’m wanting to leave when I’m supposed to, I say, “Okay,” while turning onto my stomach and moving the back of my gown to give him better access.
It's only because I want to. Yes, I need to be his good patient, but because I have to in order to leave.
I want to leave.
I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, and he rubs my lower back, kissing above the cleft of my ass, and I’m no longer sure why I’m lying still to let him do whatever he wants again.
Eight
Riley
I’m startled awake by Sam’s loud presence. Dressed in his large white coat, he tugs on a pair of fresh gloves. I fell asleep early last night, my legs draped over him on the loveseat upstairs. I don’t remember coming down here. Did he carry me? I look down and I’m tucked in, but he pulls the wedges free. This guy really likes his routines, doesn’t he? I thought he was the same about strict schedules, but then yesterday he went off course, not only once but several times.
First the exam happened sooner, and then we ate cookies before dinner. My screen time ran over too, and I got cold, so he scooted close enough for us to share a blanket. By the end of the first movie, my legs were halfway over his and I didn’t realize how much I had moved during it.
“Morning,” he says, bringing me back to the present time.
“Morning,” I say, feeling like I’ve swallowed cotton when my mouth sticks together.
“Where’s your pain at?” He stands taller, legs knocking against the mattress.
“I . . .” I stretch my legs and arms as he loosens my blanket and there’s a dull ache in my knees. My head feels like clackers are knocking around inside it. “A five maybe.”
“Let’s see if eating, drinking, and moving around helps a little before going the pain med route. We don’t need you growing reliant on it.”
“Good idea.” I shuffle myself up in bed until my back is hitting the headboard.
Two vials sit on the nightstand and next to them are a packet of needles. My stomach swims and I lift myself higher in the bed. “What’s all this?”
“For the blood draw. One of the many tests we haven’t gotten to yet.”
“What time is it?” I shield my eyes when I crane my neck to look back at the window, lowering my face from the blazing sun.
His gaze drops to his watch and then returns to me. “Ten after nine.”
“What time do you wake up? It must be super early, huh?”
He crosses his arms, leaning more to the right. “Six a.m. It’s my internal clock. My body goes based on what it’s been used to for the last twenty years.”
“How old are you?”
