I decide to change my shirt while she’s gone, giving myself the appearance of privacy, even though the door is open.
It takes me way longer than usual to get my arms over my head and shuck the material. It’s hard and crunchy in a few spots, and I can’t believe I didn’t notice that while I was wearing it. The thick scent of blood makes my head swim a little, but I grit my teeth.
The black T-shirt is large when I tug it over my head, draping down my arms to the elbow. I’m more tired than I have any right to be, but it’s done. I shift my bare legs to the side of the bed, feeling every muscle in my stomach as I do. I knew I didn’t have any pants on, but I try to block out the fact that I can’t remember removing them.
I see thin streaks of red down the fronts of my thighs.
When I look up, Winger is standing in the kitchen straight across from the door, not hiding the fact that he’s watching me. My eyes narrow on instinct, but there’s nothing lascivious in his gaze. I hate that he’s seeing me like this, weak and frail.
It spurs me to snatch up the heavy gray sweatpants and bend to try to get my feet into them. My vision goes dark from the pain, but I don’t make a sound as I struggle to get my foot into the pants.
“Sit back,” he snarls, snatching the material from my fingers. I do as I’m ordered, but only because I can’t take a breath when I’m bent over, not because he told me to. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of me, his jaw tight and lips pressed in a hard line. With a featherlight touch, he lifts up my ankle and places it into the pants, making sure my foot goes through the bottom.
“Oh, I can do that.” The woman sounds just as surprised as I am about the position we’re in. He doesn’t answer her, instead he lifts my other foot, helping me get dressed. A strange feeling of gratitude washes over me. I shouldn’t be thankful to him for helping me, since it’s his fault I’m here in the first place, but the misguided emotion is there all the same.
Before he can rise, I get a good look at the scars on his face. The skin is puckered and mottled in small places, making me think it’s a burn. He steps back from me, and I snap my eyes up to his. There’s no mistaking that I was gawking at his scar. His eyes are dark as he glares at me with his chin tilted down. Most people would find it intimidating, but it’s always been the hungry gazes that I fear.
“Can you stand?” His words make me feel weak and vulnerable again, the perfect choice to put me in my place after I was so obviously staring at the proof that he can be hurt too.
“Or die trying,” I mutter to myself with one hand on the waistband of the sweats and the other braced on the bed to help me push up. An unwilling cry leaves my lips, but I stifle it quickly. The heavy feeling in my lower abdomen shifts, as if my insides are tumbling around, but settles into spears of pain that radiate out from the wound.
Thankfully, the pants are still clutched in my grip, meaning they are up around my hips and butt. I wish I could leave them there, but the crotch is hanging halfway to my knees. I gingerly pull them up over the injury to sit near my belly button. I expect to feel them dragging across the cut, but I’m pleasantly surprised when nothing catches.
“Here.” The woman presents me with an open palm and a small white pill. I glance up at her face. I don’t trust her, how could I, but I don’t really have much of a choice. They could do anything they wanted to me now, and I wouldn’t be able to fight back with much more than sheer will alone.
I take the pill and the fresh bottle of water she provides, swallowing it down almost eagerly in hopes it will dull the pain.
“I’d say give it about fifteen to thirty minutes for that to take effect before trying to get dressed, but you beat me to it.” I think she’s trying to be friendly, but in the back of my mind, I’m wondering if she’s calling me stupid.
The three of us stand there like nobody knows what to do next. I don’t want to show my hand and let them know I want to make sure I’m not dying before trying to escape, but I don’t know how else to fill the awkward silence. “Are we going somewhere?” I remind them.
“I think you really will need to give the meds time to work before we make our way out of here.” The woman smiles softly at me. “How about we get you into a chair for a change of scenery?” she offers, sounding like a real doctor.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree easily. The more I know about my surroundings, the better, unless they don’t bring me back here, but I can’t worry about that now.
“I’ll give you a hand,” she says, coming closer with the intent to touch me.
“I got it.” I shuffle my feet forward, not getting very far.
“Me helping you now will be better than us picking you up if you fall,” she warns sternly.
“Fine.” I clench my jaw, and she makes her way over, lifting my arm to place it over her shoulders.
“Small steps. We don’t realize how many muscles we engage in our core all the time until we hurt them.” She guides me through the door, past the kitchen, and to the open living room. The wall of windows allows me to see we’re only a few floors up and still in the city. I couldn’t say exactly where yet, but I’m confident I could escape easily enough once I don’t feel like puking when I walk.
I think I black out for a second when I lower myself into the chair, as that’s the only way to explain how I end up seated without the memory of anything but a sharp pain. Winger is leaning over me as if he’s ready to do something, but I don’t know what.
“I’m fine.” I breathe through my nose as the memory of pain still pangs in my belly.
He continues to stare at me for a few seconds longer before eventually backing away. It’s almost like he’s concerned for me. Clearly, I’m not in the right frame of mind.
WINGER
I keep my eyes straight ahead while I’m wheeling Maxine through the sterile halls of the clinic. I figured there would be a bunch of questions about what happened, but all we had to do was hand over a piece of paper Cheryl scribbled on and then wait for Maxine’s name to be called. The only time she was away from me was when they took her behind a heavy wide door and told me to wait in the hall, assuring me it would only be a few minutes.
True to their word, they wheeled her back out to me less than five minutes later, and now we’re on our way back to the car. Cheryl told me she would call as soon as she had the results. I even gave her my direct number in the event she hears from them before we return to the apartment but told her not to save the info in her phone.
I feel nearly invisible behind her, which is as welcome as it is shocking. I always get stares, but she seems to take most of the attention off of me. I don’t know if it’s because everyone is curious about what’s wrong with her, or if she would be just as distracting if she were walking next to me.
