Page 82 of Grind
Ezra
Ezrawasgratefulhisnose was healing so well. It remained somewhat swollen and bruised, but its shape hadn’t changed much, and while it might not look exactly as it did before the accident, it was attractive enough, even if a bit numb.
The scars were another matter.
The one on the left brow cut into the upper part of the nose, but it was shallow, as was the cut on his chin. He might just be able to laser them out of existence, but the massive scar running horizontally across the side of his face? A piece of metal had pierced his cheek straight through. Over five weeks on, the scar remained protruding, big, and haunted him even at night, when he agonized about a future in which the beauty of his features wouldn’t be the first thing people noticed about him.
His heart started pounding hard as he looked away from the mirror and paced around the dinner table to walk off the heat simmering under his skull. The skin of his left arm was too hot, and while he’d gotten used to the cast, he still wanted to get it off as soon as possible.
Frank had told him that he didn’t need to do any housework while he recovered, but while everything was more difficult and took longer, he couldn't stand being so useless. So Ezra cooked, washed dishes, and cleaned, all with one hand. He also finished dealing with the junkyard’s backlog of paperwork and had recently taken to putting some valuables Jag had found up for sale, because what else was he to do all day? There was only so much time he could dedicate to researching scar recovery before fear of the future tossed him down a well of wallowing and self-pity.
As the pressure in Ezra’s chest increased, he went down to the floor, braced his toes and good arm, and started doing push up after push up. After forty reps, the ache in his right shoulder felt almost as if his muscles were about to tear, and he ended up collapsing on his side, breathless yet a bit calmer.
Rolling onto his back, Ezra took in the chairs, the table, the sofa, all towering above him like high-rise buildings under the skyline of the ceiling. There used to be two stains on it—squashed bugs, most likely—but by the time Ezra had from the hospital, they were both gone.
In fact, the whole house had been pristine to a point where it appeared newly inhabited, with a fresh coat of paint on the walls, and scent diffusers in all rooms. The fridge had been filled with all of Ezra’s favorites, and a fresh bag of wheatgrass powder had waited next to the blender. Frank had even offered Ezra his own bedroom to use while in while in recovery and moved into the small bedroom with a bed that was way too short for him.
He was trying.
Things changed after Paul’s attack. Before it happened, Ezra didn’t talk to Frank, scared of the feelings he still had for him despite the terrible things he’d seen. But the traumatic experience broke a dam inside him, and while he and Frank would only chat about the most mundane of things, there was some communication at least, with both of them pretending the elephant was not in the room. But Frank workeda lot,so Ezra was left to his own devices most days. He wasn’t sure if Frank was avoiding him, or had this much to do, but when he'd casually tried getting that information out of Jag, he learned that Frank didn’t know the wordrest.
Each day, it seemed that Ezra’s world shrunk further, but whenever he stepped beyond the immediate surroundings of the house, a sense of dread crawled up his back and tightened its hold on his throat, warning him that Paul might be watching him from behind heaps of junk. Or that one step in the wrong direction might end with him falling into another trap, one set up to keep him here.
Paranoia turned his world so small.
When someone walked into the house without knocking, Ezra got up so abruptly he hit his forehead against the underside of the table and fell back down. Because Frank always knocked, despite this being his own house.
“Fuck,” he mumbled and rubbed his head. Just what he needed. A big fat bruise on top of the ones he already sported. Oh well, it wasn’t like he could get any uglier.
“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t see you there,” Ros said. “Dex told me you’d be out.”
The sense of panic turned into relief, and Ezra scrambled to his feet, using the table to pull himself up on wobbly legs. “Why would he think that?” he uttered, remembering that time he woke up to find Jag staring at him through the window like some creep, because he wanted to“check up on him”. More like find out how badly scarred Ezra was.
Ros put several jute bags on the table.
“I’m not sure. I think he said Frank told him he was taking you shopping.” Ros pushed back some of his luscious long waves. At this point, seeing him be so casually gorgeous felt like a personal dig.
Compared with him, Ezra was a shadow, and he was ashamed of ever mentally insulting the proportions of Ros's legs. Because what did it matter when Ros seemed so happy with himself and had the complete adoration of the man he loved? He had it all while Ezra’s one stumble—betting on the wrong sugar daddy—had razed his hopes for the future to the ground.
Because what was he to do now? Use all the money he’d saved to seek out a more conventional career and risk that it won’t pay off?
His days as a high-end escort were over.
“He… did not tell me that we're going somewhere,” Ezra said, unable to keep bitterness out of his voice, though he felt it deep in his throat, before words left his mouth. Frank clearly was not ready to be seen with him in the town closest to his home. “Uh, would you like something to drink?”
Ros glanced outside, no doubt eager to go back to his fun life instead of lingering with the wretch Ezra had become, but then he nodded and closed the door. “Something warm would be nice. Do you have hot chocolate? It’s getting chilly out there.”
“Yes,” Ezra said right away and ran for the area containing all of the shake ingredients, including raw cocoa powder. “Oat milk okay? Do you sweeten it? I have sugar and stevia.”
He felt pathetic as soon as he finished talking. If he continued being so needy, Ros would soon find an excuse to leave, and he’d spend the rest of the day on his own, like almost every day since returning from the hospital.
Ros smiled at him and started unpacking the food. “Surprise me. I was in town and picked up some groceries for you guys.”
Ezra stalled, but he swallowed his bitterness without a word. He wished he could be this chill about what went into his food, but right now, all he thought about was the contents of the bags Ros placed on the table.
Maybe Frank was right? Maybe it was ridiculous that he stopped trying new foods out of worry that he might enjoy them and start craving them too much?
Okay, evenheknew it was ridiculous.
