Page 14 of Cut Me Down

“Bitch, you are always staying in. I'm making a new rule that starts tonight.”Oh, God.I roll my eyes, which I’m sure she can imagine as a huff escapes my lips.

“New rule? Am I thirteen?”

“No, but you're loved. So yes, new rule. You're only allowed to stay in every other night, and you were home last night. And the night before. And the night before that…” She’s sure to drag out the letters in that last sentence.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Fine, I'll head over in a few minutes.” I hear her squealing on the other end of the call. “But I'm not following this new rule of yours past tonight.” I point my finger in the air as if she was standing in front of me.

“Fine, party pooper! Bring your ass!” The snapping of her fingers plays behind her voice.

“I’m coming, chill.” She makes a kissing noise through the phone and hangs up. I don’t bother going upstairs and changing or eating dinner first. I'm sure she has something at her apartment I could eat besides pudding, and if I take too long, she’ll just call back anyway. She’s very demanding like that, and she’s quite stubborn. Granted, if she was any less insistent, I’d probably never leave.

I quickly clean everything up, grab my keys and wallet, and head to my car. I'm surprised at how little I actually drive it, but when almost everything I need is within walking distance, it’s become more of an option for escape than a necessity. I do love my car, though. I worked really hard to get it last year, and I try to take good care of it. Even though I don’t use it much, I always have wipes and glass cleaner in the glove box. That way every time I drive it I can wipe it down.

Serena calls it my ‘mom car’. Well, I'm sorry, Ms. Honda Civic, I don’t need a car that goes from zero to a hundred miles an hour in ten seconds. My 2021 Chevy Equinox does just fine, and it has excellent security and safety features. Plus, it fits a lot in the trunk, and the one time a year I need to fill it up, or Ser decides to buy some hideous piece of furniture, it comes in handy. I thought about buying a truck, like her dad has, but I don’t have a need for one, and it takes way too much gas. But I at least stuck with a Chevy like his truck, and he was happy about that, and something inside me warmed the day the expressed his approval over my brand choice.

Even though I've had it for a little over a year, I swear it still has that new-to-me, clean smell from the dealership. I'm not OCD, far from it in fact, but I do like a clean car. It’s one of those luxuries in life that you can give yourself. Every time you sit in it, it feels like a new car or a rental, and somehow it makes you feel better about your upcoming drive. Not that I drive a lot, but toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.

Checking the back seat before I get in, my ass slides into the seat and puts my seatbelt on. I’m halfway dreading the drive to her apartment, but only at the anticipation of traffic. Ser lives in a really nice apartment by the hospital about twenty minutes from me. Her salary as a TCRN allows her to afford the apartment, because it really comes in handy when she’s called in. Which is fairly recently. She’s the best trauma nurse they have, and whenever something big comes in they always call her back. I suppose that’s my fault too.

After my attack, she decided to specialize in the trauma department. Even got some outside training from trauma surgeons and triage specialists. Every time she sought outside training, they gave her a raise. Which is fantastic, but that's not why she did it. She even continued her education and got her Bachelor of Science in Nursing. She thought about going to medical school and becoming a surgeon for a while, but she decided that she liked nursing the best. I'm so proud of her.

She may be bossy, fierce, bratty, and a tad overbearing, but she’s my best friend. She’s also sweet, considerate, and compassionate. She loved nursing, even before my attack, and instead of cowering into life with me, she grew and flourished. She’s outgoing, strong, and personable. Everything I'm not anymore, but I always feel a little more like myself when I'm with her.

I always need to hype myself up before I see her. She’s so bubbly and energetic that I feel like I drag her down sometimes. Using my frequently used Spotify app, I turn on my ‘Song Covers’ playlist and play ‘7 Rings’ by Our Last Night, and start driving. She is definitely more of a Pop and Rap music person, but she puts up with my like for Rock, so I put up with her music choices as well. Doesn’t mean I can’t try to mix them when I'm alone.

The drive is always nice, especially in the evenings. The traffic isn’t as bad, and as long as there isn’t a large incoming trauma, the streets by the hospital aren’t backed up. Now, when something has happened? The streets here are chaos, especially when the nearby interstate is backed up, but luckily I don’t deal with it most of the time. It is nice in this part of town. The buildings look newer, and there are more trees and plants along the sidewalks. The business fronts look more colorful and inviting. Probably to chase away the gloom of the nearby hospital, but calming, nonetheless.

Once I come to a red light, I survey my surroundings out of habit. Looking up and down the sidewalks for potential threats before looking into all of my mirrors. I glance into my rearview mirror, and double take to see a tall, chiseled man, wearing a leather jacket on a motorcycle about two cars back. I can only hear my music, but he’s slightly head banging as he looks forward, waiting for the light to change like I am. His large hands drum on his handlebars, and even though he’s still nodding his head around, the hair on the back of my neck rise when I begin to think he’s looking at my car instead of the traffic lights.

His head is facing directly forward at me, and peering over the cars between us, instead of tilting up as if it was towards the lights. Is he moving his head to the same beat as I am?Come on, don’t be so paranoid.I tell myself. There’s no plausible reason why this man would be following me or give two shits about my car. Plus, he could be listening to anything, and the beat could just so happen to match up.Stop being so dramatic, Ashia. Those flowers are driving you to insanity.

They must be, because they’re constantly on my mind. Each flower with an accompanying swaying note runs through my head. Every day. For over a week. Each one complimenting me in some way, as if this admirer is trying to strengthen my resolve and see myself in a different light. This is a prank. It has to be, because my name on each card expels the assumption that the admirer thought someone else lived in my apartment.

Perhaps I’m imagining them. From the years of abuse and loneliness, I’ve finally snapped. Yeah, that’s it. I’m sure hallucinations could be a sleeping side effect that has just recently resurfaced. It was that man. That God of a man that stood outside the shop window and turned my brain to a paranoid and horny mush. What do they call it in Criminal Minds? A trigger? That’s it. My pussy saw that man and thought ‘yes’ while my brain screamed ‘no’, and now the two are fighting each other. Great. My own bodily warfare.

I make it to her apartment building, somehow continuing to drive with my mind blanking on images of the nameless man, park in the parking garage, and walk up to the elevator. I inhale the stale, humid air from inside the enclosed structure, and my face sours.

I hate that it’s almost summer. Whoever says summer is their favorite season, is full of it. Only people who have time and money to constantly be on vacation or in the pool like summer. Us working and broke people? We hate it. It’s hot, too hot at that, muggy, humid, and the town empties from others being gone the whole season. We have the lake close by, but it’s not near clean enough to enjoy. At least, I don’t think so, but only because I used to watch my parents throw their needles in the lake after they got high. So, I don’t step foot in it.

Using my permanent guest card, I scan in and listen to the elevator descend. A sharp squeak, not coming from the elevator, has my head snapping around to stare into the black abyss that is this parking garage. I don’t see anyone, but it sounded like shoes squealing on a basketball court, as if someone walking came to an abrupt stop. Just like my heart at the sound. There's not nearly enough lighting, and I can barely see anything past ten feet in front of me. The humidity speckling small dots of sweat on the back of my neck isn’t helping the goosebumps traveling over my body. I attempt to wipe it all away with my hand, but the uneasiness is still there. I wipe off the sweat on my palm on my jeans, and the touch on my leg causes me to shiver.

Fuck. Why am I so sensitive? Serena is going to have me placed on a 72-hour hold if I don’t relax.

The dinging of the elevator arriving causes me to jump, and once the doors open, I quickly step inside and watch as they close again, shielding me from my paranoia on the other side.

I take a few deep breaths, realizing how ridiculous I feel. I have got to get over this. I think to myself. Once the doors open to the thirteenth floor, I step off and walk to the other end of the hall to her apartment.

The halls are covered in cute, colorful, light wallpaper, and a cushioned grey carpet lays on the floors. It’s very inviting, and I could see the appeal contributing to Serena’s happy mood. A lot of the nurses and surgeons live in this building, so I suppose it was done with them in mind. If I had to deal with death and trauma all day, every day, I’d need this light outlook as well.

I use my key to walk inside and watch as she dances around her living room to some heavy beat, stripping off her scrubs, throwing the articles of clothing all over the room, and prancing in her matching under garments.

I’ve always loved her apartment. It’s spacious and open, with large picture windows that overlook the hospital. The floors are a cool grayish brown, and her walls are a very light, almost white gray that compliments the floors. She has bright yellow accents on her open curtains and couch pillows, and fake flowers on her tables that make the place look inviting.

“I take it you had a good day today?” I ask through giggles as I shut the door and lock it back.

“Hell yeah, girl! I didn’t lose a single patient! Hence the pudding!” She continues to dance, showing off her incredible figure. Her hips swaying in a way that moves every dip and curve in a fluid motion.

“Are you going to put clothes on or is this what our night is going to look like? Because as much as I love you, I’m not sure eating pudding half-naked is on my to-do list.” I chuckle and place my keys and wallet on the end table.

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