Page 4 of Remnants
Sam is currently crashing out—taking up my entire couch and it causes me to smile softly.At least I have him.
As I make my way into the bathroom, I look over at the other main reason I picked this house to rent, the walk-in bathtub. I curl my lip in irritation, hating how much that fucking thing was going to help me. I hate the fact that, at twenty-seven years old, I am picking my home based on what kind of bathtub it has.
“Enough self-pity,” I mutter while removing my shirt and bra. I unbutton my pants and slip them off before looking down at my prosthetic leg. Taking a seat in the wheelchair I put in here earlier, I remove my below-the-knee prosthesis and then the sock and the liner, leaving my throbbing leg bare. I run my fingers over the scars decorating my thigh and feel my heart begin to slam against my chest.
“STOP!” I scream at myself, trying to stop the flashbacks before they start. I use my foot and push myself over to the tub before climbing in and turning on the water followed by the massagers.
Fuck, it feels amazing, and it was so easy and convenient. I didn’t need help to get in and I won’t need help to get out. My mind goes to my poor mother, trying her damndest with her hundred pound, sixty-five-year-old little body to hoist me out of the tub. Me, just shy of six feet, weighing a buck seventy of muscle.
She did it, though. My shoulders started to weaken this past year because of me having to overcompensate. She did everything she could, until the day I went to wake her up to take me to therapy. I went in and… she wouldn’t wake up. Doctors said it was a stroke, that it was most likely painless, she just fell asleep and didn’t wake up.
Whatever, I’ve given those talks at brothers and sisters funerals.‘It was swift, they didn’t feel a thing.’
I allow the massagers to relax my aching body asshesuddenly pops into my head.Katie.Fuck, she’s attractive, minus the very weird sense of style she has. Her deep blue eyes are so captivating and that smile, fucking god, when she smiled and I saw that dimple I about lost my mind. Plus that ass, fuck.
Shaking my head, I try to rid myself of the thought of finding out what was under Mrs. June’s dress. Finding out what she smelled like when she wasn’t baking. What she tasted like…
“I’m in trouble.”
Panting, I finish my sprint down the sidewalk with Sam by my side. It’s nearly five in the morning—my usual running time. I don’t like to run once people are out due to the stares people give because of my blade. While I can hide my normal prosthetic, the sports blade can’t be covered with pants.
I took the last two days off from my daily runs with moving on Friday, and then Saturday I was in so much pain I pretty much laid on the couch alternating between painkillers and Katie’s box of goodies until I passed out. This morning I’m regretting not only the break, but the five pounds of cupcakes, cookies, and fudge that she had put in that container.
I turn off my running playlist while standing on the sidewalk as I try to catch my breath. “The fuck?” I jump as a loud crash catches Sam and I off guard. I give his leash a small tug, keeping him from letting out a booming bark as I look toward the direction the noise is coming from. It’s Katie’s house. The urge to go over and check on her is nearly overpowering. What if she had fallen?
I look at Sam and watch as his head lowers and he lets out a low warning growl. The front door flies open and I instantly pull Sam to my side and start running again, as if I hadn’t stopped or heard anything. I watch as a tall male figure carrying luggage walks to the SUV in the driveway and loads the back of the car.
As I round the cul-de-sac toward my house, I glance back over and feel chills run down my spine. He’s staring at me. It’s still dark—the street lights are barely of any use, but I can feelhim. That man is staring at me in a way that makes me feel like I am back overseas, being hunted. I tighten my hold on Sam’s leash before heading into my house.
Once inside, I double lock the door and peer out the window just in time to see his SUV fly by. I look up at his house—Katie’s house. I hate that I never got her number; she has yet to message or call, so the only way I can check on her is to walk over to her house and knock on the door like a fucking creep. Which, I will gladly do if need be… I guess.
Fuck, why am I being like this?
I see a feminine silhouette walking by the lit window on the upper level, then the light goes out. At least that tells me she is moving and maybe that loud noise was just him dropping something; he did have luggage. Still, there is a heavy feeling in my stomach that won't leave.
I look myself over in the mirror and run my palms over the front of my ripped, black jeans. I have my hair styled in a faux-hawk like I usually do if I’m going out. I’m not really into makeup, save for a little black eyeliner and mascara. I have on a white button down shirt with a black front button corset crop vest. Leaving several of the top buttons on the shirt undone, I wear my dog tags and black beaded necklace along with my black round gauges in my ears. And finally, I roll my sleeves up and put on a multitude of handmade bracelets. When I was overseas, there were kids and teens who would make them for me, and even though that ended up being what was used to nearly end my life,I still wear them to remember thateveryoneisn’t bad. There is still good in the world, if you’re willing to look.
Groaning, I sit down to prepare my prosthetic. Once I have my leg secure, I stand up and roll the outer sleeve up my leg. I pull down my pant leg and nod at myself before grabbing my black cane and walking out of the bedroom. I’m one of the lucky amputees who have a prosthetic and still need a cane if I’m moving around too much. I try not to be too bitter about it. I don’t always need it and there are definitely those worse off than me. But some days, especially days when I want to look attractive, it’s just like a giant flashing sign saying I come with baggage.
I make my way out of my house and stare across the street at Katie’s house before letting out a breath. I want to go over, but I don’t want to come off as creepy. Still, my gut is yanking me toward thatStepford Wivesstyle home and I’m not one to argue.
I make my way up the stairs and ring the doorbell, instantly regretting this decision but knowing I can’t back out now.
After what feels like an eternity, I hear the lock turn over and the door opens. I go to smile at Katie but stop short as I look over her red-rimmed, puffy eyes. Her nose is bright red and…What the fuck?
“What happened to your head?” I ask while glaring at the sizable gash on her forehead. I feel anger and a surge of protectiveness wash over me as I stare at the wide-eyed woman.
“Oh, I have a cold and when I was running down the steps this morning to get some medicine, I slipped on the rug and hit my head.” My gut doesn’t like her answer. I don’t know why, it sounds plausible, but the memory of her husband staring at me this morning keeps playing through my mind.
“Did you need something, Nora? I would invite you in, but I would hate to get you sick, too.” I shake my head, ridding the dark thoughts while putting on my best smile.
“No, Junebug,” I say softly, and grin when she blushes.I guess that’s going to be my pet name for her.“I wanted to bring you your container back and thank you for the delicious cupcakes and the sugar coma I was in yesterday.”
Katie lets out an unexpected laugh. It sounds almost strangled and when I look in her eyes, I notice they’re watery.
“Are you sure I can’t help you? I go to work tomorrow so, if you need any—” Her cool hand grabs mine as she goes to take the container.
“You’re nice, but it’s just a little cold and a bump on the head. I promise, some rest is all I need.” I take the hint, I don’t want to, but I do. I nod a short goodbye to Katie before turning and taking my leave. I have several errands to run today, but first I need to make a stop at the pharmacy.
