For the first few seconds after I woke up, I thought I was in the master suite of Phelim Tower tucked under the sheets in my bed. That my head hurt, that my arm throbbed in agony and I was having a bit of trouble breathing convinced me that I must have had some altercation with Edward after my return.
Maybe he finally made true on his promise to keep me away from campus. Perhaps he'd finally taken a knife to the brand on my thigh and cut off the flesh with Dominic's name on it. I, of course, must have retaliated. Edward probably got angry and did what he did best... Yes, it would explain why I was in so much pain.
As carefully and as slowly as I could, I finally peeled my eyes open, allowing the fog in my vision to clear before I dared to move any of my limbs. My ankle was sprained, the skin on my calves felt chafed, my hip hurt, my shoulder was also sore and my arm... What had he done to my arm? My ribs were also bruised, but not as badly as usual.
Distracted by thoughts of a possibly dislocated limb, I pushed myself up and reached over my shoulder to touch it. I grunted, my arm too tender to nurse. As gently as I could, I cradled it close to my chest and threw my legs over the bed, intent on booking an appointment with a doctor.
I didn't notice the old, coarse, brown carpet until I was a few feet from the bed. Then I stopped, looked down at my bloodied toes and froze. My gaze swept over the carpet, and then the wall and the one little window on the wrong side of the room...
Fuck.
I peered at the bed, only now noticing that it was a single instead of the double-king Edward and I shared. I was still wearing the dress from last night, dirty and torn as it was.
But where the fuck was I?
I hurried over to the window, pushing back the curtain as far as I could with my good arm. I leaned over and gasped, because instead of the majestic New York cityscape, all I saw were fucking trees. A lot of them spread out randomly.
What the fuck was I doing in the forest? Had Edward brought me here to punish me? That evil fucker, I should have known he would pull some shit like this. Likely fucking one of his many whores while I was battered and bruised in the middle of fucking nowhere because he wanted to teach me a lesson. I marched over to the door, turning the lock this way and that to escape. But it was locked shut. I banged my fist into the wood as hard as I could.
I yelled, "You tell your boss I'm going to castrate him with a broken bottle while he sleeps, the degenerate fuck!"
I grunted when pain flared through my shoulder and arm, forcing me to retreat to the modest-sized bed. I sat down and carefully sifted through the events of the previous night even as my head pounded painfully. I reached for my forehead, ready to massage the discomfort with my fingers, but I winced when I touched an open wound. What the fuck happened last night?
I was just recalling the army waiting for me in the parking lot when the lock on the door clicked. As quickly as I could, I rose and walked around to the other side of the bed, creating some distance. The door swung open and two men with large rifles marched into the room, a middle-aged doctor behind them. I expected them to point the guns at me and force me to sit, but they just calmly stood on either side of the physician and waited. Nobody said a thing.
Then another person walked into the room, carrying a plastic tray with several plates of steaming hot food and a jug of water. He swept his gaze over me quickly, then left without a word. The door closed behind him, leaving me with two armed guards and a medical professional. The latter took a step forward, and I took one back.
"If you touch me, I will strangle you with your own stethoscope."
He smiled softly, his dark blue eyes searching. His head cocked to the side, and then he nodded as if he'd come to a decision. Placing his kit on the floor, he took the only seat in the room and gestured towards the bed. I narrowed my eyes, and he shrugged as if my decision changed nothing.
"You were in a car accident last night and I'm afraid you sustained some injuries."
"No, I was not. My husband did this to me. Whatever sick game he's playing isn't going to work. He's tried to fucking gaslight me before, but it won't work."
Something I said must trigger him because fury flashed across his face before he schooled his features. He sighed, interlocking his fingers before placing an elbow on each knee. "I am told that your car was rammed off the road. I am terribly sorry that you were hurt. I am here to tend to you-"
I laughed.
Threw my head back and laughed while my ribs ached. I sat down on the bed, facing away from the doctor and the others, my peals of laughter slowly fading.
"I'm sorry, you'll forgive me if I don't believe you-"
"Avery, I am here to tend to your wounds. How you think they came about won't prevent me from doing my job. Now," he said, vacating the chair and picking up his kit. "Please have a seat so I can begin."
I was in pain.
And did it really matter how it happened? I could piece all of that together myself later, but I have to get checked out right now. Especially since I was having a bit of difficulty drawing proper breath. Plus, there was something oddly disarming about this guy. His soft smile put me at ease and his intent gaze made me feel safe, in a way.
So I sat down on the little chair with my arm cradled against me. The doctor chased the two guards out so he could get me out of my dress and do his job. He poked and prodded at me, asking me questions about how this felt and whether I was dizzy. He's much more thorough than the guy I've been seeing lately, but that might be due to the other guy's incompetence.
"Why did he bring me here?"
The doctor continued his examination as though I hadn't spoken, but he did sigh softly and said, "I think it would be best if you asked him that question. Unfortunately, I cannot speak to his intentions."
As he stitched me up and carefully placed my arm in a brace, he confessed, "He won't be happy about this. You weren't supposed to get hurt."
"Then he shouldn't have done this to me," I whispered, too drained to offer much else. The entire process must take close to an hour, I think. Finally, when the doctor was satisfied he'd done all he could, he wrapped my arm back in the sling and gave me a lot of instructions on the best treatment.
"How long until I'm not broken?"
"Four to six weeks to be certain," he said, packing up. The doctor closes up his shit and hands me a couple of pill bottles, which I take.
"If the pain gets worse, you call me immediately. Do you understand?"
I nodded, and he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. As quickly as he had come in, he was gone, leaving me alone. I ate some of the food they'd brought me, then took my medication like a good patient.
I finally managed to get back on the small bed and lay down with the fabric-softener scented sheets covering my lower half. As I drifted off to sleep, I found myself asking, why did he keep calling me Avery?
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My new prison lacks the splendour of Phelim Tower. Instead of the thick carpet by the bed, and the softest Egyptian cotton, I was treated to some coarse ugly thing and polyester bedding that reeked of fabric softener. Rather than my expansive bathroom with both shower and tub, dark marble floors and fantastic water pressure, I have a tiny space where the toilet and shower are almost fighting for space. The basin is tiny too, with no hot water. But I am grateful that everything is clean, and that I am able to wash the blood and dirt off my body. I have a towel to wrap around my body, a toothbrush to cleanse my teeth and even a variety of disinfectants and lotions for my skin. Everything a normal bathroom should actually have, including band-aids, deodorant, feminine hygiene products.
The injuries make movement difficult and it takes forever to wash all the blood off, but I have nowhere to be. Once I'm done, I blot my skin with the disinfectant-soaked cotton balls and patch myself up as best I can with what I have. My time with Edward taught me a lot, including this exhausting self-care process. I left the bathroom in search of something to wear when I noticed that a few things had been left on the bed for me.
Sensible undergarments, a few comfortable clothes, slippers, socks and a few books for entertainment purposes. I should have been happy about everything, but it just reaffirmed that I would be here longer than I wanted to. As carefully as I could, I pulled on a pair of grey cotton panties, shorts and a t-shirt. It took longer to put the brace back on, and I was so exhausted by the end of it that all I wanted to do was lie back. It isn't long before I'm asleep again.
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Over the past three weeks, I have developed a routine.
I woke up to the glare of the sun in my face. A few minutes later, the same guy who had brought in the tray that first day does so again, placing it on the bed where I'm lying. He'll ask me how I'm feeling and whether I need the doctor, but I never respond. I glare and wait for him to leave so I can eat my breakfast and take the little pills that come with the meal. I shower afterwards, taking the time to groom myself and all that nice shit.
