AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What are you doing?” I ask his bowed head.
His finger traces the arch of my foot and my toes wiggle. “How’d you get these?”
I try to extricate my leg but his grasp tightens. “It doesn’t matter. I –”
“They’re bleeding. Insanely,” he snaps, as if I’m an imbecile.
As if I haven’t noticed.
I fist his t-shirt to keep my balance. “I know. I can see and feel, thank you very much. And it’s not my fault that they’re bleeding. It’s yours.”
He looks up. “What?”
“Yes. I’ve been walking for miles because I wanted to see you. So it’s your fault.”
It’s irrational but at the same time, it makes complete sense to me.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you call a cab or something?”
I sigh sharply at the look on his face. He knows the answer. He probably overheard it the other day when I was talking to Tina.
“You know why,” I tell him with gritted teeth. “Now, let my ankle go.”
There’s a clench in his jaw and finally, he comes to his feet. Sighing, I wiggle my toes on the hardwood floor in freedom.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“Go where?”
He tips his chin forward. “To the bathroom.”
“What?” I lean back from him like he’s making a play to grab me. “Why?”
“So I can murder you and dump your body,” he deadpans. “It’ll be easier to clean all that blood up in the bathroom.”
I scoff. “Funny. You wouldn’t murder me.”
“Wouldn’t I?” he says softly.
“No. Because if I die, you can’t torture me.”
He shoots me a long look. “You know this is breaking and entering, don’t you? I remember locking my door. So either let me dress your wounds or I’m calling the cops on you.”
“Did you hear yourself?” I ask, exasperatedly. “Are you saying if I don’t let you take care of me, you’ll have me arrested?”
Still staring at me, he gets out his phone from his back pocket. “Since it’s Saturday, you won’t make bail until Monday. You’ll definitely be fired and on top of that, to come up with bail money, you’ll have to dip into your savings – savings that I hear you were keeping aside to make a payment on your old house.”
“You’re a psychopath, you know that?”
“It’s your choice,” he says, coolly.
“Fine. You want to dress my wounds? Be my guest. I don’t even care. I’ve gone crazy, anyway. I’ve completely lost my mind because I’m here. I came into your room like an idiot. So yeah.”
Muttering to myself, I start to limp in the direction of the bathroom but a hiss escapes me when blisters pop with the pressure.
