Page 20 of Marx

I wriggle around in bed, trying to move myself up a little, to a more seated position without using my arms. My gunshot wound is in the upper left side of my chest, not far off my collar bone, so any real arm movement on that side sends sharp pains through me. Digging my heels into the soft mattress, I use my legs to shove my way up the bed until I get stuck on the pillow mountain Vi made for me.

“Whoa, shit, what are you doing! Stop wriggling!” Marx’s large hands wrap around my waist as he gently lifts me to sitting. My wriggling has caused my shirt to ride up, the heat of Marx’s hands sending a shiver through me. But it’s all a silly crush. I need to get myself together and stop mooning over the wrong man.

Once I’m balanced on the side of the bed, my legs dangling over the side, Marx slowly removes his hands.

“Let me just get this chair and we’ll wheel you into the bathroom.”

There is no way I’m wheeling in there with Marx pushing me. For one it’s tiny, and, secondly, he’s been so overly helpful that he’d probably want to help situate me on the throne, and I’m not having that.

“I’d like to see if I could stand, maybe?” I ask him. He gives me a dubious look, one brow pinching in to a half frown almost. “Maybe ask Switch? I’m sure he’ll be happy to help me.”

“NO!” Marx growls. He stares wide-eyed at me, before softening his voice. “No, no, it’s OK. I can help.” He mutters something under his breath but I can’t quite hear it.

I side eye him. He’s been acting all screwy since I was in the hospital. Maybe he feels guilty because I took that bullet for him? That wasn’t actually my plan, my plan was to get him outof the way. I would have done it for any of my family. Well, this family. Not my previous one. I know that makes me a bad person, but I have very little love for the people I left behind at the Keep. The ones I loved, they all got out and are helping people find new lives, better lives.

“So, ah, how do we want to do this?” Marx shuffles a little on his feet, shocking me by seeming nervous.

Looks like it’s up to me to decide the best way. “Well, how about you hold your hands out,” he holds his hands out palm down, tattoos on full display, “facing up.” I grip them and turn them over, the heat from his hands surprising me.

I take a deep breath, shuffle my bottom closer to the edge of the bed so I can place my feet on the floor, then placing my hands into Marx’s I use my leg strength to stand, Marx’s hands keeping me steady. Once I’m upright a sway a little and Marx grips me tighter until I find my footing.

“There, I’m up,” I whisper to myself, a little tug pulling at my lips.

I’ve lived through a lot of pain, and this is completely bearable compared to some of my past lessons.

“You good?” Marx bends his knees a little and dips his head so he can see my face.

“So good.” I smile up at him and then shuffle forward a little.

It’s not bad, so I take a bigger step. Then another. Then another, Marx stepping back with each one of my forward steps. Before I know it I’m outside the bathroom and I feel like doing a little dance. Joy spreads through my body and I know that today is just the first day of many joyful days. If life thought I had a hold of it before, it’s gonna freak out at what I have in store for it now.

Marx helps me into the bathroom, and I let go of his hands, placing mine on the cool tile of the vanity.

“Thank you, I should be fine from here,” I smile at Marx.

He dips his chin before backing out of the small room, closing the door gently behind him. I manage to do my business, redress and wash my hands all by myself, and once again I can feel my inner Lovely doing a dance. I don’t really know how to dance, but I’m going to add it to my list of New Life things I want to do. Right under dating. I snort to myself and then choke on my spit when a loud knock almost beats my door down.

“Shit, sorry!” Marx calls through the door, “I just spoke to Switch, he said it would be OK for you to shower, if you wanted.”

I gasp and then feel giddy at the prospect. My long, dark hair feels greasy and gross, as does my whole body. I’m sure I stink of disinfectant and hospital.

“I’d love that!”

“Ah, just one thing. I may have to help you.” The words hang in the air and I’m not sure whether to cry or not. I really want that damn shower, but can I stand to be naked in front of the guy I had a crush on?

I grip the vanity as I look down my body and think ‘damn it all the heck’. I know it was a crush that was going nowhere, and when I look at him now he’s just my Pres, and maybe a friend I can rely on this one time.

“Yes, I’d love that. The shower, not you helping me.” I cringe at my reflection, and mime banging my head on the wall.

“OK, I’m coming in.”

Marx enters the small space and instantly the room is swallowed up by his bulk. He looks as awkward as I feel, which leaves me feeling a little bit better about the whole thing.

“So, ah, I think I’ll just need you to help me with my shirt and bra, and then, ah, I’ll be OK with the rest,” I stammer out. “I have no idea why I’m being so weird, I’ve been naked in front of people before.” Marx’s eyes shoot to mine, and now I have verbal diarrhea and can’t stop. “I mean, not strangers, couples. Couples, I knew” His face turns thunderous. “My husband usedto run sex education for married couples in the Keep and he would, um, he would do live, um, what’s the word? Lessons?”

Marx’s jaw ticks. “He would use you to demonstrate sex? In front of people?”

“Couples,” I whisper. I have no idea why the hell I shared that. Could the drugs have addled my brain?

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