by Tarisa Marie
“So I’ve been told. My mother taught me back in the day.”
“I wish my mother would’ve taught me some useful skills besides how to get drunk before ten o’clock in the morning,” I say under my breath to myself, not realizing that he can probably hear every word unless he’s deaf, which he’s definitely not.
He grimaces. “Rough childhood?”
I nod. “You could say that. My mom’s an alcoholic. My father left when I was a baby.”
It’s funny the things you can find yourself telling people that you’ve only just met. Am I really so lonely that I have to flood my neighbor with all of my drama? God, I need a friend.
Crispen nods and tilts his head to the side as he looks at a painting on my wall. “My parents both died when I was a teenager. They were murdered,” he says eerily. I watch as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
Ouch. Both were murdered? What are the chances? “I’m sorry,” I mutter. Here I am complaining about my parents when his were flipping murdered.
“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I’ve managed to move on. As much as possible anyhow,” his voice is dark, no longer joyful. Good one, Megan, way to go. “This is a pretty painting. I like the use of colour.”
“Do you paint?” I wonder. He doesn’t cross me as the type of guy to be an artist, but who am I to know?
“My sister used to paint. Years ago,” he tells me. He crosses his arms and turns to face me. “You?”
“No. I probably couldn’t draw circle to save my life.” It’s not a joke. Even my penmanship is terrible. In school, I was always yelled at for my messy writing. Many times, I found myself having to rewrite things, because my teachers couldn’t read them.
I can tell by the slight raise of the right side of his mouth that he finds this amusing.
“Have you lived in the neighborhood long?” I wonder. I haven’t seen him around, though I’m also fairly new to the neighborhood.
“Three days is all I’ve been here. I like it here. It’s quiet.” He runs his hand over his shirt as if to straighten it. He’s changed since the last time we spoke. Now he wears a plain black t-shirt and jeans.
“Yeah, it is. It’s nice. Especially after a long day.”
He then asks me what I do for a living, which is something I was hoping he wouldn’t ask, seeing as I am now unemployed.
“Nothing currently,” I admit sheepishly. “I quit my job yesterday.”
His eyebrows pull together in what I can only guess is confusion. Who in their right mind would quit their job when they have a mortgage to pay? Me, that’s who.
“Why is that?” he asks when I don’t elaborate.
Well, because I was scared some gang was going to use it to track me down and kill me. HA! Like I am going to tell him that. He already thinks I’m weird enough.
“Long story,” I answer, hoping that he doesn’t ask any further question. I’m sure to adjust my tone to make my words sound like they’re final.
“I like stories,” he pushes.
I sigh. Now what, Megan? Good one. I’m a terrible liar. As I attempt to string something together in my head, the doorbell rings. I nearly leap in relief. I’ll be tipping this pizza man well, even though he will have no idea what for, he is late after all, but it worked out.
I pay the man in the cash I have ready. In exchange, he hands me a warm, delicious-smelling pizza. My mouth immediately begins watering.
I set the box down on the counter in the kitchen and grab two plates from the cupboard. I hand one to my guest and take the other one for myself. I dish both of us up and nod to the couch. I hate other people watching me eat, so instead of eating at the table where distractions are limited, and we’ll have to face each other, I choose the living room as a better option.
“I hope you like onions,” I say to break the silence. “I meant to order it without, but I must’ve forgotten. They’re not my favorite, but I just pick them off.”
“They’re fine. I’m not too picky. A pizza is a pizza,” he teases. “So what terribly scary horror movie were you watching this morning?”
And here I go having to make another lie. “I don’t remember the name,” I say, pretending I’m trying to recall it.
“Ah, that was just an excuse wasn’t it? You’re actually extremely paranoid all the time,” he mutters through a full mouth.
I stop chewing and stare at him. Am I honestly that easy to read? I shrug, because I don’t know what else to do. I hate to lie again and dig myself a deeper hole. I also hate to lose a possible future friend. I need someone in my life right now more than anything, because right now I have no one.
To my surprise, instead of jumping up and running out the door, he looks at me sympathetically. It’s something that I don’t really understand. What is there to be sympathetic about? He can’t honestly feel sorry for me and my paranoia.
“What?” I question slowly.
“Nothing. I just find it weird that if you’re so paranoid that you have to answer the door with a knife, then why did you let me, a stranger, into your house without hesitation. “What if I was some serial killer or something?”
“Are you?” I ask doubtfully. “A serial killer I mean.” I can’t help the slight smile that arranges itself on my lips. I can’t see this handsome, friendly, doctor as being anything I should worry about, but then again, maybe that’s my small-town attitude crowding my vision. Technically, this guy could be a serial killer. In fact, only yesterday, did I not jump in a car with a friendly stranger and have that end very badly? Here I am acting all paranoid then letting another stranger near me alone. Have I not learnt from yesterday’s events?
He eyes me carefully. I’m sure he’s watching a million expressions pass across my face at once. My expression must go from humor to terror in five seconds.
He raises his hands in surrender. “I promise I’m not, but I very well could’ve been. You shouldn’t let strangers into your home.”
A breath escapes my lips. I guess I’m just too eager to make friends. So eager, that I continue to sacrifice my well-being without even noticing.
“I can go if you want.” Now, he looks more worried than anything. He’s probably worried that he’s scared me. He has, but it’s not his fault. I’m the idiot once again.
“Uh…” I begin but nothing more comes out.
He grins reassuringly and stands up. “How about we arrange something more public for tomorrow night?”
Is he asking me on a date? When I don’t answer, his smile grows.
“If you’d like of course. Maybe since you bought pizza tonight, I can buy supper tomorrow night around six? We can meet at the place if you don’t feel comfortable in a car with me. I’ll text you the address if you give me your number,” he offers kindly.
I nod in agreement. A public date isn’t going to hurt anything, right? He seems smitten by this and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out something shiny and silver then hands it to me. I take it. It’s a key.
“My house key. You know, in case I lock myself out, or if I need to leave town, maybe you could water my flowers for me and check my cat.”
I can’t help but laugh. Here he is trusting me with a key to his house, and I’m freaking out about having him near me alone.
“You aren’t scared that I might be a serial killer?” I ask, fondling the key in my hand.
He shakes his head. “Even if you were, and you decided to sneak into my house in the middle of the night, little, tiny you has nothing on these.” He flexes one of his arms and points to his muscles. Wow, cocky.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay. How do you know that I’m not a master in kung fu or something?”
“Are you?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“See, I know you’re not a master in kung fu, because you just told me that you aren’t.”
I sigh. He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to me.
“I’m a doctor, these numbers aren’t listed anywhere,
so don’t give them out.” He turns and walks to the door. “Text me sometime tomorrow, and I’ll send you the address.”
“Sure, where are we going? Should I wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt?”
“Wear whatever you want, it’s a free country. If you’re wondering if I’m taking you to a fast food joint or a fancy restaurant, it’s something in between.”
He leaves my house with a friendly smirk, and I shut and lock the door behind him. I set the key to his house on the counter along with his business card.
I turn on the television after I’m done eating pizza and attempt to drown out my thoughts with a simple romance movie. It must work, because I eventually drift off.
Chapter 2
The next morning, I take out the garbage, and the beautiful day convinces me to go for a walk. I end up walking quite a ways from my house, as the fresh air seems to help clear my head, and before I know it, I’ve walked miles further than I initially intended to.
I walk by my favorite clothing store and slip inside. I don’t end up buying anything, but I notice that they have a sign up indicating that they’re hiring, and I make note to drop a resume off sometime. As I come out of the store, two things happen simultaneously. First, I dodge a guy on a bicycle going way too fast. In doing so, I trip and fall onto the street. Second, an old, grey car comes barreling towards me, also going way too fast, and I can’t get up off of the road quickly enough. The car drives right over top of my left leg, and somehow, my head manages to make harsh contact with the asphalt. A splitting pain radiates in my legs, but I feel nothing in my head, which I know is wrong, because I hit my head so hard that it should be in agonizing pain.
A passerby on the sidewalk reaches for me and pulls me off of the road. It’s a woman who can’t be any older than eighteen.
“Are you alright, miss?” she demands, but all I can hear is a loud thudding. I assume that it’s my pulse. I watch as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone. Another person who saw me get run over, rushes over to us and sticks her fingers to my neck. Is she checking for a pulse? I’m obviously alive; I’m just in too much pain to move.
“She’s breathing,” the older woman says, she looks old enough to be my mother.
“Ambulance is on its way,” the young girl reassures me a couple minutes later. This is so my fricken luck. What a week! First, I’m abducted, and now I’ve been run over. Great, just great. To top it all off, I’m going to miss my date tonight, the only thing that I possibly have going for me.
When the sounds of sirens fill my ears and flashing lights fill my vision, I am both relieved and unbelievably embarrassed. What adult gets run over? I’m such a klutz.
I’m strapped to a stretcher and thrown into the back of the ambulance swiftly by paramedics. I notice that the young girl comes in the ambulance with me but not the older lady. The paramedics ask me a round of questions, and I find myself still unable to speak. The girl tells them what she saw.
When I look at my legs, I nearly faint. It looks like I’ve been trampled by herd of elephants. It’s not just the disgusting colour, it’s the shape. Who knew such a little car could do such damage? I mean, I’ve heard of people getting run over and not having a scratch of proof!
We pull into the hospital, and my brain begins to become foggy. I know I’m going to pass out at any moment. My body has had all it can handle. I’m rushed through rooms until I’m finally stopped and moved onto a different stretcher.
I see a white coat pass through my vision, but I don’t catch a face. There are nurses too. I cringe at the long needle that is seconds away from plunging into me. I hate needles, but I think that a needle is the least of my worries right now.
“Do you have your healthcare card?” a woman asks.
“In my wallet. In my pocket. I think,” I mutter through clenched teeth. I’m pretty sure my pants aren’t even on anymore, though my head hurts too much for me to lift it and look.
The lady rushes around me then disappears from sight.
“I’m going to check your vitals. I need to know if you have a concussion. Follow the light with your eyes,” a deep, rough voice instructs me. I do as he says, the light blocking my vision and burning my eyes.
“On the plus side, I don’t think you have a concussion. Your legs, on the other hand, they’re going to need x-rayed as soon as possible. I’m going to send you upstairs to have that done right away,” the man, the doctor I assume, tells me calmly.
As another needle enters my forearm, the pain starts to numb. I manage to sit up slightly and readjust myself on the stretcher.
“Careful, please,” a nurse warns while dancing around me taking tests.
I can’t believe I’m in the fricken hospital. You have to be joking.
After my x-ray, I learn that one leg is broken in two spots below the knee, and the other is just bruised up pretty good. A cast is thrown onto my leg, and I am given crutches to my dismay. Holy, flipping cupcake shit crap. Ugh. This is not happening.
I wait patiently for the news from my other tests. Can I go home, or am I doomed to spend a night here, maybe longer? I’m relieved when I see a white coat make its way down the hall towards me. That is, I’m relieved for a few seconds, and then I recognize the owner of the white coat. It’s Crispen my neighbor. The one I am supposed to go on a date with tonight. As he approaches my room, I hope that he walks right by it and doesn’t notice me. If only. He walks specifically into my room, a smile lighting up his face.
“No wonder you’re so paranoid. You’re accident prone,” he mutters jokingly while looking over the clipboard hanging by the entrance to my room. I assume it’s my patient chart. “You were hit by a car. May I ask how?” Confusion fills his features.
“I went out for a walk, and I tripped trying to get out of the way of a bicycler and fell into oncoming traffic,” I explain embarrassedly.
“A broken leg and no concussion. I’d say you got off pretty lucky,” he assures me calmly. He places the clipboard back and approaches me.
“How did you know I was in here? You don’t even know my last name, and this is a pretty big hospital.” He probably seen me in the halls being rushed around half naked and completely out of it.
“I was working in the ER this morning, and an ambulance brought you in. Do you not remember me shining a bright light into your eyes?” he asks, concerned. Oh my god. I didn’t even look at the doctor’s face, when I was first brought into the hospital, but thinking back now, hearing his voice should’ve been enough. “Is your head okay, Megan?”
I nod. “Whatever they gave me is helping.”
“Good. Have you had any confusion or memory loss?” he asks me next. I know this question stems from me not remembering seeing him when I first came in.
“No, I just didn’t bother to look at your face while I was in extreme pain.”
“Okay. It’s always better to be safe than sorry, especially, when it comes to a patient’s head,” he explains professionally. Then his routine expression slips, and a casual, sexy smirk crosses his face.
I swallow hard and pray to god he doesn’t decide to take my blood pressure. Calm down, Megan, he’s just a guy. A cocky guy that you don’t need to get involved with. You have other shit to worry about right now.
“I think I’m going to have to cancel our dinner tonight,” I tell him, trying not to sound to upset by it.
His smirk doesn’t falter. “How about we don’t cancel it, and we postpone it instead?” He still wants to take me out for dinner after he’s seen me the way he’s seen me today? “Actually, I have an idea. I’ll make you a deal. Instead of making you stay here tonight, I will send you home on one condition. I am allowed to come check up on you every two hours. I want your head watched for any signs of trauma over the next twenty four hours. I know your paranoia thing is a little off the charts, but surely you can see that I’m no serial killer. I’m just a doctor.”
Just a doctor? Ha! The hottest doctor I’ve ever had.
I nod in agreement. I am not staying overnight in the hospital. Plus he is a doctor. Should I really be freaking out about letting someone who saves lives into my house? Probably not. It’s unlikely that he’s going to kill me. I’m probably just being a paranoid freak again. Plus, it might be nice to have someone check up on me after what Landon said about people coming after me.
“Okay, cool. My shift ends in half an hour. I’ll drive you home then,” he promises and hands me my crutches. He helps me off of my bed, then he scribbles something down on a small notepad and shoves it into his white jacket pocket. I’ve never used crutches before, and it proves to be quite the challenge. I’m normally not a very graceful person, so I’m sure that on crutches I look like a clumsy idiot.
I follow him down the hall in silence. He stops at a room and motions for me to wait outside. He’s back in a few moments, then he moves on to the next room. When he emerges from that one, he smiles at me softly, probably trying not laugh at how silly I look.
“So you work in the ER, then you come up here and check on these patients?” I ask him confused.
“I was just covering in the ER this morning. The doctor scheduled in the ER had other things to attend to for a couple hours. It was actually supposed to be my day off today. Then you came in, and I decided to stay at work. We’re short on doctors anyhow right now, so the hospital can use all the help it can get.”
“You stayed at work on your day off, because I broke my stupid leg?” I ask dumbfounded.
He shrugs and changes the subject. “What are we ordering for supper tonight, or would you like me to cook something?”
When I don’t answer, he rubs my back between my shoulder blades and steps in front of me, so I have to stop. “Megan, are you alright? You seem very…frightened? I know it’s more than paranoia. What is it that has you shaking in your boots?”
His words catch me off guard. Is it that obvious? “Are you asking me as my doctor or my friend?” I ask him without even meaning to.
“Either one. Whichever you prefer,” he decides quickly.
