by Vi Lily
I look ahead of us at nothing in particular while I suck stuttering breaths in through my nose, tiny inhalations that don’t expand my chest, then blow slowly out through my mouth. I do that several times and I know he’s watching me, but I keep staring out of the windshield.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says in a calm, low voice that actually does a lot to settle my nerves.
For the first time, I realize how deep his voice is, much deeper than a normal teenage boy’s. His body, too, is unlike any boy’s. The guy is huge, but he’s also built. Seriously built.
I take in another breath, a bit deeper, but wince at the stab in my side. I glance at Alex.
“I know you’re not going to hurt me,” I practically whisper. “Sorry for freaking.” I focus on another breath.
“It’s just that I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t.” I push my hair out of my face with a shaking hand.
He notices the shaking. “Okay,” he sighs, as if reluctant to give in. “No hospital. How about urgent care?”
I don’t answer, but just shake my head. He sighs again and I glance over to watch him rub his hands over his face.
“Alright, no doctor,” he agrees and then turns to put the vehicle back in drive. He looks over his shoulder to check for oncoming traffic and pulls back onto the road to Clemens.
Panic starts to hit me again. “Where are we going?”
“We’re still gonna go to Clemens, but I told you I won’t take you the hospital or doctor. But you need someone to check you out and I know who.”
Chapter 2
A LEX WON’T TELL me where he’s taking me and after I beg him for five minutes straight to tell me, I give up. I definitely can’t jump out of the vehicle now, because it would be suicide for sure, since we’re going like fifty on the two-lane highway.
But, honestly, I’m just too exhausted to fight him.
And I must be exhausted, because, despite my crazy circumstances and present company, I manage to fall asleep on the ride. It’s only like a half hour or less to Clemens, but I fall asleep so quickly and deeply that I even have a dream.
Of Alex freaking Johansen kissing me of all the crazy things.
I awake with a start. Alex is standing in the open passenger door and has his big hand on my shoulder. He’s gently shaking me, calling my name. I’m still surprised that he even knows my name, and that he remembers it. Whenever he says it, I detect a slight southern accent. He says it more like “air-ee-yell,” rather than “aww-ree-ell.”
“Just Ari,” I mumble and shift, an involuntary whimper escaping my mouth as the pain shoots through me. I immediately look at Alex and see him scowl.
Normally, I would be terrified by that look on his handsome face. It’s the same look that’s sent me scurrying into classrooms whenever I saw him stomping down the halls at school. But now, I somehow know that he’s not angry with me and that the scowl might actually mean he’s concerned.
Wow. I have to admit, that’s a totally foreign concept for me. I mean, between the absent and cold parents I grew up with, then a brother who is either ignoring me or kicking my butt — and now the latest, trying to freaking sell me — I’ve never, ever had anyone show any concern for me. So, I’m probably wrong in guessing that’s what’s causing the scowl.
He probably is just ticked off.
“I’m gonna slide my arm under your legs and the other behind your back. I’ll try not to hurt you, but no guarantees.”
I nod and tense when he leans toward me. I know I smell bad; I mean, maybe not my body so much now — that’s one good thing about winter, the lack of sweat — but my clothes almost always have a slightly musty smell. You know, that one that lingers when you leave the clothes in the washer for too long.
It’s funny; back when things were good — well, better than now — we had a maid. Matilda sucked, though, because she always forgot to put our clothes in the dryer. She’d toss them in the wash, then she’d get busy doing something else, then go home for the day. By the time we’d go looking for our clothes, they were soured. Mom always cursed Matilda and rewashed everything, but it never totally got the smell out.
Now, my clothes smell like that because I have to wash them with hand soap, then shove them in my backpack until I get home so that I can hang them in my bathroom. They’re never quite clean, and they’re always a little wet when I put them on.
It hurts like a bitch when he picks me up, but I manage to get through it without making any noise. Or worse, fainting. I even manage to put my arm around his neck to help with the burden. But he’s carrying me like I don’t weigh more than a child.
Which I probably don’t.
We approach a big brick building and it dawns on me that I never asked Alex where he was taking me. A sign hanging above the door says “Doc’s.” I stiffen, but Alex said no hospital and no doctor, so I stupidly put my trust in him. I realize then that I’m far more tired than I thought, since I’m not thinking right.
Alex uses his big shoulder to push the door open and it’s then that I realize with a shock that he’s taken me to some sort of health club. No, a gym. There definitely isn’t anything fancy here to indicate it’s a club of any kind.
There’s a big boxing ring in the center of the giant warehouse type room we’re in. Alex carries me past some guys lifting bars with big round disks on the end and I notice one of them staring at us. There are some other men lifting barbells, their big muscles bulging with the effort. I don’t see a single woman anywhere.
It reminds me of the place where Rocky worked out in that old movie.
Alex carries me clear through the big room, to the back where I’m assuming are either locker rooms or offices. Maybe both. He walks up to a beat-up old door that says “Doc Martinez.”
“Knock on that, will ya?” Alex says to me. I notice he isn’t even out of breath, despite carrying me all this way. I do as he asks and I hear some grumbling and shuffling and then the door is yanked open and I’m staring at Santa Claus.
Okay, maybe not Kris Kringle, but a darned good imitation. The guy is chubby — yep, round belly — with a long white beard and long white hair to match. He looks like the kind of grandfatherly type, maybe in a biker sort of way, that makes you want to curl up in his lap and let him cuddle all your troubles away.
His dark brown eyes show surprise as he takes me in. “Whatya got there, Crusher?” Santa asks, his voice surprisingly growly for such a soft-looking guy. I notice he used the nickname Alex got from wrestling. Alex the Crusher. It fits him.
Alex doesn’t answer, but he pushes his way in past the man. That’s kind of rude, I think, but I don’t say anything. Neither does the old guy.
“Close the door,” Alex orders the man, who surprisingly does as he demands.
Alex walks over to a buffet against a wall and sets carefully me down on it, next to a coffee maker. I wince at the pain in that darned right side again when I slide my arm off his neck.
“I think she’s got a broken rib,” he tells the man, who’s been watching us silently. “Probably more than one.”
His surprised eyes look from me to Alex and he cocks a white eyebrow.
“So, don’t you think you ought to be taking her to the hospital?” His tone is accusatory and I hurry to explain.
“I can’t go to the hospital… or doctor.” My voice is barely above a whisper now. The effort of getting in here — even though Alex carried me and I haven’t really done anything — has cost me whatever I had left.
Santa Claus — Doc Martinez, I guess — frowns and he walks up to me. Sitting on the buffet as high as I am, my face is level with Alex’s chin, but this Doc person is a lot shorter and I’m looking at the top of his head.
“Let’s take a look,” he says as he reaches for my shirt. I startle and jerk back, then cry out from the pain as I bump the coffee maker. Alex reaches out to grab the pot before it crashes to the floor with one hand, and with the other gently grabs my shoulder.
“It�
��s okay,” he says and I look up into his beautiful eyes. He almost looks like he’s going to smile, but I doubt that. I don’t think he’s actually capable of smiling.
“Doc was a medic in like the Middle Ages or something,” he says, surprising me with the joke.
Doc rolls his eyes and elbows Alex, who doesn’t even flinch. He’s still staring at me with those dark blue eyes. They remind me of the color of the North Sea that I saw in a picture once.
“Let him take a look, okay?”
I nod reluctantly, again trusting a guy I don’t even know. Weird. I wonder if that blow I took to the head last night has knocked some screws loose.
Doc runs his hands up my sides, gently probing. I can’t help but wince as he does. His eyes are on mine the whole time, so he doesn’t miss it and I see a frown appear between his bushy white brows. He looks at Alex.
“Take a hike, kid. Go work out or something. I’ll take care of…” his voice trails off in a question.
“Ari,” I whisper. All the movement and his quick examination has left me breathless again.
Alex looks at me and I can tell that he’s hesitant. Again, it’s weird. “I’ll be okay,” I assure him. He nods then, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him after a last look in my direction.
“So,” Doc says as he turns back from watching Alex leave, “let’s get this shirt off so I can take a good look at your ribs.”
My eyes widen in horror. No way do I want to take my shirt off, for so many reasons. One, I don’t want him to see my body. It’s too embarrassing, because I know I’m super skinny and my ribs stick out. My collarbone too. But worse than that, I’m not wearing a bra, because it hurt too much to put it on after I washed my clothes in the gas station bathroom last night before I locked myself in to sleep.
And then there are the scars…
The man takes in the emotions crossing my face. He sighs and runs a weary hand over his own face.
“Kid, I ain’t some perv. I got granddaughters older than you. One’s expectin’ my great-grandson any day here. And I was a medic in Vietnam and I’ve seen it all — blistered burns oozing green pus, arms and legs blown off, guts falling out of bodies, decapitations—”
“Okay,” I rush out, before he grosses me out any further. It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten in… well, I guess since lunch at school yesterday, because otherwise, I’d be puking all over the coffee buffet at his gross description of the horrors of war.
He helps me pull my shirt off and I cross my arms over my small breasts. They aren’t much to look at, but still, I don’t want anyone looking at them. I’ve always wondered if they’re so small because I’m skinny. My mom had some pretty big boobs. Of course, they could have been implants for all I know.
Despite Doc’s bravado at all the horrors he’s seen, the man sucks in a breath at the sight of my body. I swear the dude pales under his olive skin.
His eyes come back to me and he whispers, “Who the hell did this to you?”
Well, guess it’s not the thinness that has him sucking in the breath then. I honestly have no idea how bad the beating was, because I didn’t want to look at it. If I see the bruises, I know it’s going to hurt even worse.
I don’t say anything. I can’t give Devon up; even though he sucks, he’s my only living relative. Plus, he’s my only hope for a place to live until I finish school. Just one more year plus a few months.
“Johansen didn’t do this, did he?” Doc growls as he gently presses on my side. He’s being so careful, but the pain is excruciating regardless.
“No!” I say with too much vehemence and gasp as the pain grips me again. “He’s just helping me. Actually, I barely know him. We go to Athole Academy together.”
I see surprise then as Doc’s dark eyes study me, and he apparently sees the truth there. “Never known that boy to be a philanthropist,” he snorts. I wonder at that, and how he knows Alex.
“Why don’t you want to go to the hospital?” he asks then, catching me off guard.
I hesitate. “Um, too many questions,” I tell him. He nods and I’m grateful he doesn’t ask me anything else.
He finishes examining both my sides, then checks my back, mutters a foul curse at whatever he sees back there, then asks me where else I’m hurt. I want to tell him about my head where Devon kicked me with his hard boot last night, but I don’t want Doc touching my dirty hair, so I tell him just my ribs hurt.
“Well, I’m pretty sure you have three broken ribs on the right and two on the left, and maybe some others that are cracked. Not much that can be done for them, other than wrapping them up.” He steps back and motions to a door at the back of the room I hadn’t noticed before.
“Why don’t you go take a hot shower, then when you’re done, I’ll wrap your ribs and I bet you’ll feel a whole lot better.”
I almost cry at his suggestion. Despite the pain I’m in, a hot shower sounds like heaven right now. I haven’t had one in over a year. I used to take them every day at school, but ever since Raine and her bitches saw me undressing in the girls’ locker room and started calling me “Holocaust Ari,” I just can’t bring myself to get naked in front of anyone.
Doc leads me into a huge bathroom that has a big vanity and a shower in the corner. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a towel, a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
“These might be too big on you,” he tells me with a kind smile, “but they’ll do for now. I don’t have shampoo here, but there’s a bar of soap in the stall and a hairbrush in the cabinet,” he says as he walks out the door. I notice he locks it before pulling it closed behind him.
My eyesight is blurry from the unshed tears at Doc’s kindness, but before long, the tears are washed away as I moan under the hot water. I never imagined anything could feel so good. You can never truly appreciate what you have until it’s taken away from you.
This lesson seems to be the theme of my life.
I want to stay in that shower all day, but I don’t want to take advantage of Doc and his generosity and use up all his hot water, so I wash my body — twice —scrubbing at it with my nails until I feel like I’ve gotten all the grime off.
One lesson I learned the hard way is bar soap is not the best thing to use on hair and will actually make it feel gunky, so I just scrub it with the hot water as best I can.
When I finally feel like a human being again, I reluctantly turn off the water and towel myself off, spending extra time trying to get my long hair dry. Then I wrap the towel around my body as I brush my hair out until it’s almost completely dry.
Doc wasn’t kidding about the sweats being too big, but, thankfully, they have a drawstring, so I cinch them up around my waist and roll the bottoms up three times so I can walk without tripping. The t-shirt hangs on me too, but it covers me and it’s not tight, so you can’t tell I’m not wearing a bra.
I forego panties, too, because there’s something criminal about putting dirty panties on after a shower. I really don’t want to put my dirty socks on my clean feet, either, so I just shove the boots back on.
I have a total of five pairs of shoes — the shoes I usually wear to school, a pair of tennis shoes, an old pair of dance shoes, a strappy pair of high heels my mother bought for a wedding we went to right before they disappeared… and my boots.
The boots aren’t technically mine. I found them one morning in the living room after one of Devon’s drug parties. All the partygoers were gone at that point, so I claimed the hiking boots as mine. They’re the only thing I have that isn’t too small. In fact, they’re a little big.
But at least my feet don’t hurt in them.
I walk back out into the office area and see Doc sitting at his desk, working on a computer. He glances over his shoulder and he smiles at me, then motions me over. I see a roll of what I assume is some sort of stretchy bandage on his desk.
“Take your shirt off, Ari,” he instructs me. I glance toward the door and he shakes his head.
“I locked
it, sweetie, don’t worry.” The office windows have blinds that he’s pulled shut, I notice. He lifts the roll off the desk and wiggles it at me.
“Let’s get those ribs wrapped and you’ll feel a thousand times better. Well, maybe a hundred,” he says as he grins at me.
I reluctantly lift my shirt up, wiggling slowly since I’m so sore. I don’t pull it all the way off but leave it around my neck, resting on my shoulders, so that it covers my breasts.
Doc is very clinical as he wraps my ribs, which I appreciate.
“The new school of thought is to just leave them unwrapped and let them heal on their own,” he says as he pulls the tape around me. “But having dealt with my fair share of these things over the years, I can say it feels a lot better to have them wrapped to limit movement. Just not too tight, though.”
Surprisingly it does feel a lot better once he’s done. I still can’t breathe deeply, but I can take a much deeper breath than before.
He pulls my shirt back down, helping me maneuver my arms into the sleeves. Once he’s done, I impulsively hug him. The man is stiff at first, then he wraps his big arms gently around me and softly pats my back, mindful of my bruises.
“Thank you. So much. For everything,” I murmur and I feel him nod against me.
“You ever need anything, and I mean, You. Ever. Need. Anything,” he emphasizes and my eyes fill with tears, “you come to me. Do you hear me?”
I nod against his chest, then I pull back and wipe my face in embarrassment. I didn’t mean to get so emotional, but Doc has been so kind to me. No one ever has treated me as nicely as he has.
I notice that his own eyes are misty and he starts to say something, but a knock stops him. He walks over and unlocks the door, opening it to Alex. I’m surprised when I see he’s holding some white paper bags.
“Grub Hub,” he jokes as he walks in. His eyes come to me and I can’t help but notice that he freezes like a statue when he sees me. I mentally shrug; he’s probably freaked out that I’m wearing Doc’s clothes.
My mouth instantly starts watering as it always does whenever I’m around food. It’s an inconvenient side effect of near-starvation.
