Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel

by Niki Hager

  Survival mode completely takes over my body, and somehow I'm able to turn enough to grab onto the counter top next to me. This is imperative to my staying alive. I can't let go, I can't let go, I can't let go. It's the only thing I'm able to think as the animal continues to bite at me, looking for a better place to strengthen his hold.

  My blood is running thick through his sharp teeth. In my blood, and in-between his canine teeth, I see pieces of chewed dog food mixing with human flesh. Mine. Don't let go, don't let go. If my hands slip off the counter I will fall. If I fall, I will die. I need to stay standing.

  It's getting harder. He's got a huge mouthful of my right arm now, and he knows he's won. He's got the grip. He's shaking me violently back and forth the way a dog would with a stuffed toy. I know what happens next; I've seen Roman's dog do it enough times. This is the part when all the stuffing begins to fly out. I can't let go, I can't let go.

  The vital fluid leaking down my arm is pooling on the counter. My fingers are sliding around in it. I'm finger-painting the granite surface red. My own blood making my hands slippery. My grasp is loosening, and I don't know how much longer I can hold it.

  I can't feel anything. My body's in shock; I don't feel pain. I see my arm in Bear's mouth, and I see the mess of gore secreting the area around me. Chunks of my skin are missing, so I know I should feel something, but I don't.

  Heavy air gets stuck in my lungs when I try to push out sound, the breath unable to move in or out. My state of shock is preventing me from screaming. I desperately want to scream. The part of me I no longer control knows I need to scream, but my frozen body won't comply. All I can do is watch, and hope to hell I don't fall to the floor.

  The shaking is getting worse, and I lose the strength in that hand. The arm rattles and jolts like one of a neglected rag doll. In the mangled mess of exposed bone and muscle, I don't recognize it as mine—it's too surreal.

  With only one hand left now to hold on for my life, my effort is dubious at best. This animal out powers me. I'm losing. I will lose. Everything feels like it happens in slow motion. I can recount every tooth as it punctures the skin and every droplet of blood as it drizzles to the kitchen floor.

  My auto-piloted body must relinquish some form of control because I feel the intense urge to scream. So I do. I scream with every ounce of force I have left. It's my final feat. Exerting one last battle cry. I was Leonidas and this is my Thermopylae. Even Bear plays perfectly into my twisted vision. Xerxes personified, waiting four days before attacking. It's weird the shit you actually think about right before you die.

  The last thing I see before the room fades from my vision is Roman. He's running out of the bedroom in his boxer briefs and he looks scared. His beautiful face is paste white, and I focus on it. He shouts something while he runs to me, but I only see lips moving with no sound.

  I wish I could tell him how it's all going to be okay. I wish I could tell him to just roll with it the way he always tells me to. I'd tell him if I could, but I can't. My mouth doesn't work right now, and I don't really believe it will be.

  Enzo was wrong, I think to myself, before everything in front of me goes black. Roman was my hero. Our love story may end in tragedy, but all the great ones do. One final jerk severs my grip. My palm skates to the edge, hanging over until only the tips of my aching fingers touch, leaving skidded marks in the bloody wake. I have to let go.

  Murphy's Law

  Gone So Long- Breathe Carolina

  Roman

  Tuesday July 21st, 2015

  There was so much blood. My only thought was I have to get the dog off of her. Now all I think about is how I wish I could have killed him with my bare hands. I pushed her away because I was afraid I could lose her. How fucking ironic? I'm going to lose her anyway. Literally this time. I caught her right before she would've hit the ground, but the dog still had a hold of her arm. I started punching the bastard in the head over and over and over again, but he was relentless. I couldn't get him to let go of her. I started to panic so I let go, took a step back and yelled at him as loud as I could to, "Go to bed!" It's what I say to my dog when she's being bad. I don't know what came over me, to shout a command instead of just looking for a goddamn gun, but it worked. It actually fucking worked. The dog simply let go. He let go and walked away. I pushed him into a bedroom, or bathroom, because I didn't fucking look to see which, and I shut him in there so I could go take care of Bug. She wasn't moving. Her tank top was torn to shreds and soaked. It was white, which alone amplified the way the bright blood looked against it. I was going to be sick. I didn't have time to get sick, so I was just going to have to puke later. I picked her up and laid her in the backseat of my car. I don't know how I was even able to dial with my hands shaking so hard, but I called her mom and Bee's brother, Evan, were meeting me at the hospital. I ran so many red lights I had stopped counting. They were already here when I got here and her brother took her from me. Being forced to let go of her really pissed me off. I knew I was being irrational, but my whole body was on overdrive and every emotion was inflated to ridiculous proportions. The nurses took her from him anyway and laid her on a table. She was so pale; her limp body was so … lifeless. That's when I lost it. I had to run to the closest garbage in sight and blew most of the chunks from my sour stomach. It's ripping my fucking guts out, Rigbee helpless and me not able to help her. It's too horrific to watch. They put some shit under her nose to try and wake her up. I could see in their expression it wasn't a good thing when she wouldn't. Her bed was pushed into a room, and when her mom and I tried to follow, we were forced back out. They told us we needed to leave so they could concentrate on doing everything they can to help her. I'm sitting here now in this shitty ass waiting room, completely fucking helpless, and I'm going fucking insane. I don't know why we haven't heard anything yet. The last thing I remember hearing was something about her "losing a lot of blood." At least, I think; I was pretty irate at the time. Then the door slammed in my face, and I couldn't see shit through the tiny ass tinted window. So here we sit. Her mom crying uncontrollably. Her brother trying to comfort her but at the same time freaking out inside. He won't stop tapping his foot on the ground.I was compulsively watching his knee bounce up and down and up and down before I saw this pen and paper lying on the end table. I have to do something with my hands or I'm going to start breaking shit. I just heard some doors opening. Shit, it's her Doc—

  Rigbee

  Wednesday July 22nd, 2015

  Yesterday, I was attacked by a Rottweiler dog. I was house sitting for four days already. I woke up at around six-thirty that morning to feed him. His name was Bear.

  I wake up with a painful jolt. The nightmare was so real. The dog was there. It felt so real. So real. I'm still shaking, and my heart is pounding but ranks second to not knowing where exactly I am. The sun coming through the window is too bright. I blink a few times to help my sensitive eyes adjust.

  Oh, my god, I feel like I've been hit by a train. I take a look around and given the tubes and monitors I'm hooked up to combined with the backless gown I'm wearing, I'm going to go ahead and guess I'm still at the hospital.

  I try to lift my arm, but can't. I try to call for someone, but can't. I didn't realize until right now how bad my throat hurts. I swallow what little spit I can form, it goes down much like I'd imagine steel wool would.

  Oh, shit, the dog! What ever happened with the dog? Oh, my god they are going to kill me. I suck at life so hard right now. I can't even take care of a dog without it inevitably wanting to kill me.

  I struggle, but I force myself into a seated position. My movements catch the attention of all the people crowding outside the door of my room.

  "She's awake," I hear Roman say first, before I watch as he maneuvers his way in-between and in front of the two nurses walking toward me.

  I was told I had to stay in the hospital until the infection in my blood was gone. I'm hooked up to all kinds of antibiotics and pain meds. I've been here for fiv
e days now, and I'm finally allowed to get up and move around. And eat solid foods. I will never take food for granted ever.

  I can't imagine I'll ever willingly eat pudding or gelatin again. Green Jell-O is my kryptonite. Not kidding. I'll be shitting green for weeks.

  Grandpa Joe is here. Not here visiting me, but here on the same floor as me. He's been here for a few days, and I didn't know. He has been getting bad stomach bugs, and they haven't figured out why yet. I didn't want to see him yet, though, because I don't want him to worry when he sees how messed up I looked, all wrapped up in bandages and being hooked up to the IV.

  Roman has been here every day and night since the attack. We haven't talked about us or anything, so I don't even know what to think. Instead, we play Scrabble and watch Big Brother After Dark. Today, he had to take care of some things and then actually left for the first time.

  A few minutes after Roman leaves, I get antsy, so I grab a hold of my metal pole with wheels the IV hangs from and shuffle down the hall to visit Grandpa Joe.

  "What's up, Buttercup?"

  "Hey, Grandpa. How are you feeling?"

  Grandpa Joe is lying in his bed, looking pale and fragile. Numerous wires are strewn about attached here and there, and like me he's shackled to an IV, confining him to the vicinity of his bed for now. I frown at the sight, my bottom lip inadvertently trembling, but then he smiles at me and says, "Oh, don't you worry about me, how are you feeling?"

  "Not gonna lie, I've been better," I tell him as I roll my eyes.

  "Looks like we both have, am I right, Rig?"

  "I know, how weird for us to both be in here at the same time. I didn't even know you were sick." I give him a pointed look to show I'm not so happy he didn't tell me.

  "I didn't find any reason to worry you."

  "I know, but Grandpa—"

  He immediately interrupts me, "But nothing, you're young and need to live your life without worrying about an old man."

  "Living my life got me put here in the hospital right next to you!" I joke and he chuckles.

  "Where's that guy of yours?"

  "I don't know, actually. He said he had to go take care of something."

  "He's a good guy. He stopped in here to visit with me a couple times, you know. When he gets back try not to give him too much of a hard time, he really does love you."

  "So what? You think I should let everything he did slide and pretend like nothing happened?"

  "Oh, no, make him kiss your boots … er … or hospital socks, I guess," he says playfully. “But, Rigbee, men are dipshits. The sooner you know, the better. But your guy, while his head was in his ass, his heart was in the right spot at least."

  I try hold in the smile and look doubtful, but I can't fight it as my pouted lips stretch into a grin.

  Grandpa nods his head at me and doesn't say another thing. No more words are necessary to convey his message. I nod back in understanding. He takes my nod as a sign our conversation has reached an end and rests his head back against his pillow and closes his eyes. I sit there for a moment more, not ready to go back to my isolated room yet, but without opening his eyes, Grandpa uses his hand to shoo me away.

  I burst into giggles when I see them walk through the hospital room doors. Enzo with a picnic basket, and Roman is carrying the plaid blanket and bouquet of flowers. I'm still on a lot of pain medicine, so the giggle fit could be partly due to drugs, but they look like complete dorks. Right now they are my most favorite dorks in the world. I couldn't ask for better dorks, because they brought me real food.

  Roman asked the nurse's permission to take me outside and to the credit of his charm, she allowed it. The hospital doesn't have much of a lawn, however, so we are eating picnic style on the curb of the parking lot. I'm sure we look ridiculous to anyone else, but they should wish they were me right now because I couldn't be happier.

  The sun is shining, and I'm alive, sitting here eating homemade sloppy joe's and mac and cheese. The best part is imagining Enz and Rome having to work together in a kitchen trying to make it.

  I picture them spilling the sauce and cursing at each other, but then finding common ground and getting into a groove. I never ask for the actual details of their cooking experience because I don't want my version tainted, but if I had to guess I'd bet it went close to my version.

  None of us moved to get up after we finish eating, I'm not ready for the moment to end yet. We stay as long as we can, until a nurse is sent to fetch me when my next set of meds are due.

  When visiting hours are over and all but Roman had left, I can tell something was wrong. He's acting weirder than normal. He keeps shifting his weight back and forth like he's uncomfortable and not focused. Rimmed with red, his eyes are bloodshot and tired and he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

  "I lost you," he says out of nowhere, causing me to jump slightly at the broken silence.

  "You didn't lose me; you threw me away. Two different things," I tightly tell him.

  "Will you just shut up and let me say what I have to say, woman?" he demands, and I snap my mouth shut.

  "What I was going to say is, I lost you. And then, I thought I actually lost you. Now I have you again, and I am going to do everything I can to keep you." He pauses and takes in a breath, like he's thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say next.

  "I wasn't ready for you. I didn't want something so intense yet, and I sure as shit wasn't prepared when you up and popped back into my life. I tried to ignore you at first, thinking you would go away. But you’re not so simple, are you? So, when I couldn't bring myself to ignore it any longer, I had to choose between going all in with you or having my insides eat away at me until I couldn't function anymore anyway. I chose you. I wanted to give you everything I had, and I would have."

  "Until Amy died," I whisper.

  "Yeah."

  Long black lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks as he lowers his eyes to the floor.

  "When she died, it was a cold slap in the face. I knew things were too good to be true with you and something was eventually going to happen to tear us apart. The thought scared the shit out of me. Amy died, and it reminded me things don't last. I thought I was manning up. Getting it over with early, as opposed to waiting until we were in so deep that when shit went down it would be too devastating to come back from."

  "Bad things don't always happen, you know." My voice begins to brittle, but I stay strong and suck it in.

  He gives me a sideways glance while I watch the smirk play on his furry face. "Um, yeah they do. Do you not remember almost getting eaten to death last week?"

  "Yeah, I guess there's that. Hey, wait a sec, what did you mean by popping back into your life again?"

  "Oh, yeah, Damn. We're getting beside the point. I'll tell you later, okay?" The question is rhetorical as he doesn't wait for me to agree. "My point, though, is things went wrong when I started thinking we couldn't handle any type of shit we inevitably get into together. I was afraid I would have to go through all the bad shit alone. If anything were to ever happen to you, I would have to. But then something happened to you anyway, and my heart and soul would've been completely crushed regardless. I was being selfish, and I'm aware of that."

  "Whatever stuff you're afraid of happening, could still happen, you know. We never know what the future holds, good or bad. So are you always going to flip out and leave anytime you get scared?" My voice is strangled. "Because it will happen again. And again, and again, and again."

  "Naw, Bug. Naw." He smirks at me sweetly, then turns serious again. "You broke me this time. This time, I am all too familiar with the downright fucking despair of not having you with me, when you sure as shit should've been."

  Sunday July 26th, 2015

  My wrist hurts from the IV, so it really hurts too bad to write today.

  Monday July 27th, 2015

  I basically broke down today. I sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor and cried for hours. I'm not sure if it's from the pain, or because my gran
dpa died this morning. It happened only a few hours after I was released from the hospital. It's probably a little of everything. I didn't even go see him before I left. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I thought I'd come back and see him later. I will regret my choice forever.

  Tuesday July 28th

  I woke up at four this morning with the most severe cramps I've ever had. I know it's because of all the pain meds, but seriously I feel like I'm dying all over again! Roman called me his girlfriend today. I think it accidentally slipped out, but I also think he meant it. We still haven't talked about it. It never seems like the right time with everything going on.

  Wednesday July 29th

  Last night was the first night I didn't take a sleeping pill. It was the first night since the incident I didn't have the nightmares. It was also the first night Roman slept over at my apartment again. I don't have much else to say and I have to go get ready to say good bye to my grandpa for the last time.

  Thursday July 30th

  Today. Sucked.

  Bottom line.

  Friday July 31st

  My arm's been leaking a yellowish puss-like liquid for the past two days and it started bleeding again for some reason. Over a week later and still bleeding. Is the nightmare ever going to end? Anyway I just noticed I ruined my sheets. Awesome. It's leaking through the bandages and it's so gross. Poor Roman was lying on those sheets all night. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention how he's been sleeping at my apartment with me again? It feels nice knowing I will wake up against his warm body. He's been handling my night terrors. He holds me until he thinks I'm asleep again, but sometimes I'm not. Which is how I found out he's having them too.