Page 72 of Fixation
His phone.
“I have to get this.” His determined eyes find mine. “Strip, Miss Arlington.”
“Harper.” I have to keep reminding him that I’m a person. A human being. Even if I’m on my way out of here.
“Everything off, Harper.” He’s less cold, but his sharp command sends ice up my spine regardless. “Oh, and don’t you dare try to escape.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t take off my clothes?” I say to his back as he’s heading to his phone, pulling my sweats up my legs. “What if it’s the hospital? If you have to leave?”
“It isn’t the hospital,” he deadpans while his head is bowed over the phone.
No, I don’t wonder who it might be on the other end. I’m the farthest thing from jealous or indignant.
I don’t belong here, anyway.
This shouldn’t have happened, so I’m undoing the damage that’s been done. I get to escape thanks to this other person who’s holding Anderson’s attention.
He’s texting furiously, and—oh,fuck, tearing the IV out of my vein hurts like a mother. Blood trickles down my forearm and to the bed.
No matter.
One foot lands on the cold concrete floor. The second one.
The bed creaks.Shit. I bite the inside of my cheek to silence the curses.
The glance I steal in his direction calms me down. Anderson is glued to the screen.
He hasn’t heard me moving around.
The damn glance I shoot his way turns into an appraisal. It’s hard to take my eyes off him.
His strong profile. The square line of his jaw.
The intensity vibrating from him as he waits for the person on the other end to respond.
He’s giving her the same attention he does when he’s staring at me.
You won, whoever you are. I don’t want this kidnapping motherfucker, anyway. I really, genuinely don’t. I can fuck my own hand. I can look at pictures of crazy handsome men while I come. He’ll never have his hands on me again.
I’ll miss him.
But I’ll be a free woman. All it takes is this one step. Another.
My footsteps are hushed. My hand grips the railing for balance. Walking is a struggle, with my legs trembling like that. Even a bigger struggle to hold my breath in. I haven’t walked for hours, but it feels like years. Like decades.
My lungs burn.
This fever really did a number on me.
Another three steps. The world starts spinning.
The stairs are just twenty feet away.
I’ll get there before my legs give out on me. They shudder so badly.
I can collapse when I’m outside.
Blood trickles down my arm to my wrist. It’s painting the rails.
