Heartburn

by M. C. Cerny

  “Oww. Shit. Fuck. Oww.” I groaned trying to breathe the pain away.

  “Are you all right?” His face froze in an equally horrified and concerned look.

  The only answer I gave him began with a pained moan followed by a hiss when the sting of my injury penetrated my senses. Worry etched deeply in his face along with something that looked like regret for maybe teasing me a moment earlier.

  “Damn.” I looked down to see torn skin and blood welling up to the surface. Ugh, I hated blood and it made me woozy. I was going to milk this for all it was worth. After all, I was bleeding and he dragged me out here.

  “Ugh. Blood.” I couldn’t fake the woozy dizzy spell feeling it pulse at the wound site and bleed profusely.

  “Sit still.” He kneeled down putting a rolled up shirt behind me.

  “Oww, it stings.” I wiped away tears.

  He carefully turned my leg, but stopped when I cried out.

  “Shit, don’t move and let me look.” Whit dove right into Boy Scout mode tearing his backpack off his back. His muscled flexed and I fixated on how his body clenched as he rooted through the medical kit he carried.

  “I am the worst klutz.”

  “Not sure I can argue that one.” He looked up from hooded eyes attempting to joke and reassure me before he maneuvered the flesh around making me wince. “Damn you sliced your knee open real good. Stay still.” Whit rifled deeper in his backpack.

  “It’s bleeding. Gross.” I hated the sight of blood, hence why I was not a pre-med major. I’d had enough with the biology classes in high school and stayed safely ensconced in the liberal arts.

  “Bit of a gusher, but good thing I’ve got crazy glue and both peroxide and antiseptic.” He’s ripping off wrappers and uncapping a container that looked like it had seen better days.

  “Whoa! Whoa there Boy Scout. I don’t know about glue.” I slapped his hands off my leg, but he grabbed my wrists holding them away from my knee. It looked like a chainsaw hacked into it from the little I peeked between my squinted eyes.

  “I’ve got to clean it first you big baby. Remind me, are you allergic to anything?” I shake my head no. He grunted pulling out supplies and snapping on latex gloves.

  “Gloves?” I’m wondering if he’s part mad scientist or if this is his thing. I didn’t have any medical doctor fantasies, but he got right into it bending his head over my leg and here I was having a near panic attack with racing lascivious thoughts of him kissing my wound and making his way between my legs dead center nipping along the way. Yeah, my knee wasn’t the only thing gushing and throbbing in sync with my heartbeat.

  “Stop wiggling.”

  I huffed. “Stop being stupid hot.”

  “This is turning you on isn’t it?” He tried to not laugh and I motioned to kick him with my good leg. Pain zinged the longer air breezed over the cut.

  I coughed and groused sarcastically. “I think blood play is where I draw the line.”

  His eyes darted up, “Noted. I don’t want this wound to get infected.”

  My face blushed hot and a chill wracked my body.

  He ripped open an antiseptic pad warning me, “This is the worst part.”

  “It’s gonna sting. It always stings.” My body tightened in resistance. I bit my lower lip anticipating the pain more than anything. Whit hadn’t touched me yet and I was ready to burst into to tears like a baby sniffling loudly and hiccupping to keep it contained.

  “Hey, look at me.” Whit took my face in his palms and kissed the end of my nose and then my lips in a sweet lingering kiss. “Of course it will, baby. I won’t lie, but it has to get cleaned out. I could give you stitches later, but my sewing isn’t so great and like I said, the glue will keep it together so we don’t have to go to the ER unless you want to.”

  The horror on my face must have been comical because he laughed and kissed my nose again. I didn’t find much about this funny at all while my body vacillated between pain and wanting to pounce him out here under the watchful eyes of nature.

  “Relax, I got this, Amelia.” He twisted open a bottle of water and poured it over my leg letting it run off.

  “You mean you’re not a seamstress along with being my own personal MacGyver?” Hope caught in my throat when he poured the water slowly over the cut. Hope that he wasn’t going to actually slap that antiseptic pad directly on my knee.

  “Don’t bite your lip.” He warned me holding my thigh down with a heavy hand that imprinted the skin with his. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when and the anticipation kept me rigid.

  “You’re going to murder me aren’t you?”

  He wetted the gauze and applied it to the cut letting it fizzle and bubble. “Sorry sweetheart. The glue will leave less of a scar.”

  I hissed as he held me steady. “Holy shit balls.” That had to be the dirtiest rock I ever landed on. My leg was foaming like a rabid animal.

  I whimpered, “It’s deep enough for a scar?”

  “Yeah, ‘fraid so baby.” He blew gently over the area watching it do its thing.

  “Oh crud.” I leaned back trying to not look at all the blood gushing from the wound collecting on the pad that was mostly rusty looking water on this pass. I wasn’t vain enough to care about a scar on my knee, but it looked messy and I hoped the glue held so I could avoid the emergency room or a pokey doctor.

  “Blood doesn’t make you faint does it?” Whit asked seriously and I wasn’t sure if I should lie or be honest. My stomach was already churning.

  “N-no.” I cupped a hand over my mouth and breathed in and out slowly.

  “Liar. Here, use the cold compress against the back of your neck and don’t look. I’m going to glue it closed since it’s a clean gash, I just want to make sure everything gnarly is out of it before I close it up.”

  “What happens if it’s not?”

  “I’ll have to take you to the hospital for them to open it up and flush it, but seriously that’s like the worst case scenario and only if you want some pretty tight and itchy stitches. The glue will do the same thing. We’ll probably have to get you a tetanus shot at the campus clinic tomorrow.” I wasn’t sure I liked clinical and serious Whit as much as fun and flirty Whit.

  I groaned leaning my head back. I would not think about that right now. Shots were a problem for another day.

  “Will you carry me back?” I glimpsed the red stuff oozing down my leg as he applied a thick bandage sopping up a handful of wadded cotton.

  “Two miles? It’s a stretch, but I could do it.”

  “My hero.” I crooned until blinding pain forced me back up again. “Ah shit!”

  Whit held my shoulder down keeping me from moving again. “That’s the antiseptic pad.” He informed me. No shit, Mr. Sherlock.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I half shrieked, half grumbled.

  “Because I had a feeling you’d jump off the rock if I did. Sit back, I got this.” He voiced with a clinical detachment I wasn’t used to hearing.

  “I didn’t realize you were still cleaning it out.”

  “I have to if I’m going to seal it shut. Don’t move.” Whit pinched my skin together and I felt a cool burn on my knee where he applied the glue.

  “How long do we wait?” Stress and more unshed tears clogged my vision.

  “Until it dries.” He blew on it and my legs shivered. His lips grazed the spot to the right of my knee. He doesn’t seem the least bit grossed out by blood and the already forming bruises.

  “What if a bear comes?” I asked as he kissed up my leg looking at me like he’s intent on making out right here on the trail where anyone could come upon us with what looked like an almost murder scene, and the evidence of my bloody stupidity.

  “You should be more worried about me baby.” He made huffing bear sounds and I giggled. Whit crawled on the ground next to my body and gently laid my head down on his shoulder. He took the cold compress from my neck and placed it gently on my inner knee.

  “
I’m not getting naked.” I shivered.

  “Who said anything about clothes coming off? I just want to kiss you. Your lips, my lips, our lips on each other’s lips. You know, lips on lips.” His eyes bore into mine and I lose track thinking about where he’s planning on kissing me. I’d settle for anywhere he’s dragging the ice pack up and down my leg.

  “Oh. Lips. Yeah. Okay.” Entranced I’m agreeable.

  His lips touched mine and for a moment take the focus of pain away from my throbbing knee. His lips are firm and taste delicious. My skin tingled with each touch of his fingers against me.

  Whit laid back on the rock we’re sunning on and I leaned into him. Our breaths are heavy and if my knee hadn’t resumed throbbing I’m sure he would have worked my shorts off by now. I kind of wish he did.

  “Your hair.” He tugged a lock of it.

  “Hmm? What about it?”

  He rolled over me careful to avoid any busted up part of me. “It reminds me of wood violets. The kind you see in the early spring. The ones that pop out of the snow, vibrant and full of life.”

  “A flower? My hair looks like flowers?”

  He grumbled. “Hey, I realize for an old man like me it’s not exactly poetry. I’m sure your contemporaries could do a better job.”

  But the reality was that they couldn’t. They weren’t Whit, they didn’t have his cheeky smile and dry humor. They weren’t a fraction of the man he was or the one I needed.

  I chuckled, “Right because guys like Ryder West who put up such a good front even know what poetry is.”

  “Just saying, Amelia.” His eyes scanned the vista and narrowed in on something across the ridge. He turned serious. I wanted to bottle this moment up and save it forever, bask in the silent stillness that seemed so fleeting.

  I tugged on his sleeve until he looked back at me with a smile that crinkled at his eyes and waited at the corner of his kissable and incredibly distracting lips. “No one calls me that.” I whispered.

  “I’ve heard tweedle dee and dumb use your name before, your roommate too.”

  I rolled my eyes, “Okay, no one I like does it.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I do.” He glanced back. “Maybe that’s our thing.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Besides I like getting you riled up. It makes for interesting conversation.” I pulled on his sleeve as he gently yanked on a loose lock of hair and tucked it back behind my ear.

  “I bet it does.” I rolled my eyes.

  “And sex. Always interesting sex.”

  “Well butt sex is going to be off the table just so you know.” I pointed to my knee and he pretended to be horrified clutching his chest and prompting his best Gone With The Wind impression.

  “My word, Miss Amelia, I would never presume to take you from behind and rut like a woodland animal with you thusly injured.” We busted out laughing and the endorphins muted the pain a fraction.

  “Mmm hmm.” I curled myself in the curve of his hard body. His backpack rested on the ground as our make shift pillow and I wished we were back in my apartment or his house lying in a comfortable bed instead of the hard unforgiving ground. This was nice, but the rock felt hot in the sun and my knee ached. If this was any form of glamping, I was out, so out.

  “Changing the subject.” He said and I murmured okay. “My friends are planning a combined bachelor/bachelorette party for friends I’ve known forever.”

  “Sounds like fun. I can’t say I’ve been to many of those yet.” Because obviously I’m young and none of my friends are getting married yet, but I don’t say that. In fact I’d rather shy away from any conversation that highlights our age difference in any shape or form. I didn’t want to be some fun notch on his belt at the end of the day.

  “Well, those crazy kids Kristen and Damien have planned it so who knows, but it’s in Vegas.” He voice trailed off and I waited a pregnant minute for him to say something. “I was wondering if you would like to go.”

  “Oh.”

  Vegas.

  Sin City.

  “Yes, Oh.” He mimicked kissing my neck and licking the skin teasing me until I felt shivery.

  The idea had merit. It was something I could tell my sister’s future kids when I was an old lady living with my cats because I lived an interesting and impulsive life. “Go to Vegas, huh?”

  “Yes.” He reached his hand out, his fingers rubbing against mine in a slow stroke.

  “Hmm,” I responded. I thought about my classes and part-time job thinking I could swing it, but the airfare would cut into my savings pretty deeply. I ran through my budget, it would be tight, but I could make it work.

  “Be my date.”

  “Your date?”

  “Mine.” He whispered cupping my check in his calloused palm that sent tingles to my lady bits.

  “Yeah, your date. I think I could swing that.” Taking off a Friday of classes wouldn’t be the end of the world and what college kid never skipped class anyway.

  Whit picked at a frayed hole starting in his cargo pants speaking, “You don’t have to ask your parents for permission or anything do you?” He ran his hand through his hair resting on his elbow.

  Huh, well, I hadn’t thought of that.

  “I’m an adult. Legal age, so no, not really.” It kind of stuck in my craw that Whit was asking me about my parent’s thoughts. I couldn’t get them to support any of my college majors thus far so this wasn’t exactly a road I felt like traveling down with him today. Hadn’t I been pained enough?

  He rolled over to look at me. “You’re not twenty-one yet. Won’t they worry about you flying out of state with your ah–older boyfriend?” I guess we were traveling down this road at lightning speed then. I hoped my age wasn’t going to be the hang up every time I turned around with him, as if I didn’t know my own mind or couldn’t make a rational decision.

  “Whit.” I grumbled.

  “Amelia.” His face reflected a serious expression like this was important to him or important in some fundamental way I couldn’t understand.

  “Okay, that’s true, but I don’t plan on being a drunken date and obviously I can’t gamble in the casino, but it would be fun to hang out.” I don’t mention my parents because they would indeed freak out and I had no intention of inviting that conversation. I might not be twenty-one, but I was well over eighteen. I could vote, join the military, and have all the sex I wanted. I didn’t understand his hang up about a magic number when the bar crowd was never my scene to begin with. Meeting my parents would only solidify the weirdness and send him running for the hills. It wasn’t like this wasn’t going to change in a few months anyway. See. Moot point.

  Whit mulled this over, but his face held onto that constipated expression that said he didn’t like what was happening, but he had no idea of how to stop it. Good. Because I had zero plans to stop his romance train should he decide to go tooting his horn.

  “I’ll pay for airfare and the hotel of course. I know this is supposed to be a surprise for Hunter and Taylor. Kristen will probably call to harass you. Girl stuff and whatnot...”

  “Awesome.” His friends were around his age, some not too much older than me, but enough to feel like the extra wheel being the youngest in the group. I bet they all gave Whit shit for dating me and I even heard a few odd conversations where jailbait was thrown around and I don’t mean in a bro-code sort of way.

  “You might rethink that when she starts throwing dick cake and confetti your way.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see a real dick cake. I guess I can check that off my list now. Thanks babe.” I kissed him cheekily.

  “Anytime.” Whit grinned wrapping his arms around my middle pulling me close.

  It was settled. We were going to Vegas.

  18

  Whit

  “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” Lia groaned leaning over her lap like she was faint or sick. I’d seen Lia express a number of emotions, but a nervous fear wasn’t one of them that came around of
ten. My hand went to the back of her head rubbing the soft spot on her neck attempting to reassure her. I had a paper bag ready if she started hyperventilating, but I knew she’d work thru this fine.

  “I think my knee hurts. Let’s go back. I can’t sit in the car this long to drive there.” She sounded pitiful and full of shit. I couldn’t fully empathize why this was so terrible when I was the one under inquisition for being the supposed cradle robber, but I didn’t remind her of that. The sweat on her brow and the tapping of her leg seemed penance enough.

  “Well, we could go back and have the clinic check your knee out if you want, but they’ll probably just want to give you a tetanus shot and send us on our way.”

  “I’m only doing this for the fountains and the magic show.” She continued her pout and I patted her uninjured leg.

  “Good girl.”

  I ignored her huff and stared ahead into the sun glare and possibly my last trip across the bridge. We still had another good hour to cross Manhattan if the traffic held on the way into Brooklyn followed by my last rites if what she said about her parents was true.

  “Chin up, Amelia. Meeting your parents is not going to be the end of the world.” If her mother didn’t shoot me first and bury my body somewhere in the Jersey meadowlands for taking her daughter to Vegas.

  “You haven’t met them yet.” She wrung her hands nervously wiping the palms on her dark jeans.

  “I could just tell them I stole your virginity and then we could have a shotgun wedding today and solve everything at once.” I tapped on the steering wheel hoping to diffuse the situation. All I got was a side eye and a snort that didn’t sound encouraging.

  “Seriously, Whit? That’s what you went with?” She rested her head on the window ignoring me.

  “Hey, come on babe.” I snuck a peek at her face turned out the window avoiding me. I let my fingers spider crawl up her leg, but she pushed my hand off. So much for promising.

  “Ugh, just drop me off and go back home before they find you.” She picked at her nail and I grabbed her hand to stop the anxious habit.