Page 138 of Fixation
The more time passes, the less air filters into my lungs.
Answers, he owes me those. He owes me comfort.
My doorstep hardly registers as I cross it. I descend the cool, concrete steps barefoot, looking down to avoid stumbling and face-planting in the street.
I’m pretty sure I locked my house, but who knows?
I do. The keys are in my palm.
Good, good.
And bad.
This is the most messed up I’ve ever been. Most disoriented.
Anderson will know what to do. What to say to calm me.
“Watch out!” A voice. A wind gust blowing in my face.
A force slams into me.
Pain slices through my ankle as I hit the ground.
My elbow. The side of my body.
Someone knocked me over and, fuck, it hurts.
Twisting my head is just as painful. I try to look up to see who did this to me.
A person—a man?—on a bicycle blocks the early morning sun is staring down at me. I can’t make out his face. His features are blurred. Maybe he has blond hair?
“Hurts.” Blood trickles down my arm. Something isn’t right with my ankle. It’s throbbing.
“Fuck,” the same voice says. He sounds young. Really young.
A second later, the kid splits. Leaving me alone.
Utterly alone.
No one else is crouching by my side, asking if I’m okay. If I need assistance. An ambulance.
My ankle keeps shooting pain through my leg.
It’s a good thing that I’m being ignored. I don’t think any of them would be of any help.
My neighbors. Any passersby.
The doctors at the hospital.
They won’t care.
He will.
There’s one doctor, one surgeon, whom I trust with my body. With my life.
It should terrify me that I crave the hands of a man who might kill me the second I walk through the door.
But…
