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She smiled a polite smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you, miss,” she said, gesturing toward a pile of clothes she placed on the coffee table. “Mr. X expects you to be ready in half an hour.”
“Wh—”The breakfast. I groaned. Sitting with a group of strangers was the last thing I wanted. But at least I was allowed out of the room.
“Thank you… eh…”
“Lisa,” she said, and I flashed her a smile.
She was the friendliest face I met so far. Her hair curly, and cut in layers barely reaching her shin, and by the graying stands in the otherwise mousey brown, I’d guess she was nearing retirement.
“Do you work here?” I knew a servant when I saw one, and she fit the criteria down to the tired look on her face, to the plain black clothes on her somewhat round body.
She smiled and nodded. “In the kitchen, miss.”
“Kaylie.” I corrected.
She smiled and nodded, then turned to leave.
“Hey,” I called out, and she stopped to look at me. “Could you… I tried to tell Mr. X, but he… I’m out of medicine, and it’s important that I have it.”
Worry flashed across her friendly face. “What do you need?”
I didn’t know. When all came down to it, I didn’t even know what was killing me.
Every time I tried to get a straight answer from my father, he gave me more questions instead. The names he rattled off in Latin, and the medical terms that only a doctor could understand, meant nothing to me. And if I asked him to clarify, to give it to me straight in plain English, he promised another time.
I sighed. Maybe I was better off not knowing. As long as I did what I was told, I’d be fine.
“I don’t know. My father is a doctor. He took care of everything for me.”
Lisa nodded. “I’ll inform Mr. X.”
I could sell the car and fly back to LA, but somehow, I didn’t mind the drive. A week alone could be exactly what I needed to clear my head. To erase Kaylie from my fucking thoughts. And heart.
I made it two hours before I couldn’t go on. Pushing myself while she was still with me wasn’t as hard as it was alone. Who did I try to prove myself to? I was fucking exhausted from sleep deprivation and the constant ache in my arm. Despite Johnny’s drugs, the wound reminded me of how few days it was since I was injured.
When the first sign of civilization appeared ahead of me, replacing the woods with buildings scattered across the land, I already knew I had to stop at the first hotel I came across. I needed rest, a goddamn shower, and a change of clothes.
The room was nothing special, but I didn’t need a first-class suite. All I needed was right here, and as tempting as the queen-sized bed looked with the white sheets and inviting fluffy pillows, I forced myself to the bathroom instead.
Peeling off the shirt already damp from sweat, I prepared for the pain I had to inflict on myself. The bandage came off, revealing angry red skin that made me mentally cringe. It dropped to the floor, and I lifted my gaze to the oval mirror and faced my fears. Cleaning it was a struggle against myself. I wanted to throw the goddamn alcohol across the room and leave everything to chance. But I couldn’t. The risk of infection was nothing I wanted to gamble with, no matter how bad it stung. It was so much easier when Kaylie’s gentle hands did it. Just looking at her was the distraction I needed to get through the treatment without wincing or punching the nearest wall. She wasn’t here now, and it took all I got not to slam a fist into the mirror in pure frustration. Scream I did, and it felt fucking good.
Instead of wrapping the wound, I stepped straight into the shower, letting the water rinse away the remaining dry blood. Not bothering with clothes, I went straight from the shower to the bed, collapsing onto the soft white sheets.
When I woke up, the room was dark. My first instinct was to call Kaylie’s name, then I remembered. I rolled over to my stomach, wincing as the motion hurt. Kaylie was gone, and I had no fucking reason to stay awake.
The next time I opened my eyes, the room bathed in sunlight. I squinted at the window, and the blinds I forget to pull shut. Tempted to close my eyes again and forget about everything that hurt, I pushed myself to sit. The fucking wound was still there, just as ugly and rough. Touching the skin around it made my wince. The whole area was a giant bruise, reminding me it was more than the flesh-wound I promised Kaylie it was. With the bruising coloring the skin around the muscle purple and blue, I was sure something was torn. The inability to lift my arm without pain was not a good sign, either.
“You need medical treatment.”
Kaylie’s words echoed in my head, and I sighed. She was right. I couldn’t brush this off as nothing. Not anymore. I was stubborn. But I had a limit to what I could take. This pushed that limit. If I wanted to use my arm again any time soon, I’d better get this checked.
I had nothing to lose by admitting it. Not when she was gone. And I had no energy left to fight.
With the drugs out of my system, the pain was a constant reminder of what I tried to cover up with indifference and stubborn bravery. I was fucking shot. And I was still running from the truth because facing it—facing the fucking hospital was something I avoided at all costs. The last time I was treated for a gunshot wound—Julie died.
Sweat broke out across my skin as I staggered out of bed and fumbled with the little box of unknown pills. Gulping a few down, I collapsed back onto the bed and wished for someone to fucking save me from myself.
I’d go. I just needed to feel better first…
