Devastated (Anger Management Book 1)

by R. L. Mathewson

  Deciding that the best place to start was the laundry, she picked up a large empty plastic laundry basket and headed towards Chase’s room. She didn’t bother knocking since she already knew that he was glued to the television in the living room. If she had to guess, and there was no doubt in her mind that she was right, she’d guess that’s all he ever did.

  That would be changing very soon.

  She cringed as she walked into his room. The sheets on his bed were well worn, dirty and in a tangled mess. Dirty clothes, trash, and garbage covered the rest of his room and it smelled like…well, there really weren’t any words to describe the odors in this room.

  With a shake of her head, she opened the windows to let some fresh air in the room with the hopes that the small action would make breathing possible once again. Then she stripped the bed and threw the sheets into a pile on the floor for the trash. The blankets were salvageable. They just needed a good cleaning. She picked up the rest of his dirty clothes and headed into the bathroom they shared and immediately wished that she hadn’t.

  The walk-in shower stall looked like it hadn’t been used in months. He probably hadn’t used it since the last time help had been forced on him. From what she’d heard and seen, her new patient had given up on life. He wasn’t taking care of himself and he had a bad attitude that was guaranteed to make his life miserable.

  In other words, he was going to be a challenge.

  She finished picking up the dirty clothes in his room, the bathroom, in the main hallway, and even in the kitchen before starting a load in the washer. Then she went around the house, picking up trash. When she walked into the living room, Chase pointedly ignored her, which was fine with her. She’d rather get the house straightened out before focusing on him. When she turned her attention to him, she wanted to be able to focus completely on him.

  Once the trash was done, she attacked the bathroom and then the kitchen. She scrubbed them both until they shined. Then she attacked his room, her new room, and the foyer. Once that was done, she attacked the living room where he once again ignored her until she pulled out the vacuum. Then he screamed at her to wait for a “fucking commercial.” The only time she stopped cleaning was to offer to make him something to eat for which he replied, “Fuck. Off.” After she grabbed a bite to eat for herself, she returned to the tedious job of making the house livable.

  Five hours later the house was sparkling clean. She really wished that she could sit down and relax for the rest of the night, but she still had one last thing to do and there was no way that she was putting it off until tomorrow.

  Straightening her spine, she walked into the living room and stepped in front of her new responsibility. He grumbled as he tried to look around her.

  Finally, when it became obvious that she wouldn’t move, he snapped, “Do you fucking mind?”

  “Nope, not really.”

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “I have to do something,” she said casually.

  “Well, then do it and get the fuck out of my way!”

  She nodded slowly in agreement. “That’s a really good idea.”

  He snorted in disgust as he took a sip of his beer while she walked behind him. Before he could stop her, she released the brakes and rolled the wheelchair backward. Realizing what she was up to, he reached out to grab hold of the doorway to stop her, but she moved too quickly.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Leave me alone!”

  She ignored him as she turned the wheelchair around and gave it a push. He tried to take over, but she continued to push the wheelchair forward and didn’t stop until she had him in the bathroom. Once she had him inside, she locked the bathroom door behind them.

  “What are you doing?” Chase asked, as he shot the closed door a wary glance.

  “Not much,” Sloane said, as she set the small white plastic bench in the shower stall. Then just as quickly she rolled him inside the shower stall so that she could switch him to the bench without having to carry him. Not that she could. The man had a good eighty pounds on her, but she’d done this enough to know exactly how to get him out of his chair and onto the bench without throwing her back out or dropping him on the floor.

  “No!”

  “This isn’t up for discussion. You smell. While I’m working here, you’re going to take better care of yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” he snapped, sounding like a child. She understood where he was coming from. He was a grown man placed in a situation where he was forced to rely upon others. She could sympathize, but that’s as far as she could allow her emotions to go. He needed someone to take care of him and help him adjust to his new life even if that meant fighting him the whole way to do it.

  With the swiftness of seven years’ experience, she reached over and grabbed him beneath his arms and lifted him, giving him no choice but to go with it or fall. He swore, but he didn’t fight her. Smart man.

  Once she had him on the bench, she pulled the wheelchair away just as he reached for it.

  “Fucking bitch!”

  “That’s me,” she said easily. “Now, we can either remove your clothes or you’re taking a shower with them on. Your choice,” she said in a no-nonsense tone that clearly told him that she wasn’t going to be backing down anytime soon.

  He folded his arms over his chest as she stood there, patiently waiting for him to make the next move. For several minutes, he sat there glaring at her. Finally, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to budge, he yanked his shirt off over his head and threw it at her.

  She caught it and tossed it in the hamper. When she went to help him with his underwear, he glared at her until she stepped back. Good. He had some fight left in him, which was always a good sign.

  Once he was completely naked, he casually covered his privates. “Let’s get it over with,” he ordered, looking extremely pissed.

  “We will, but first things first,” she said, turning her attention to the small leather bag she’d placed on the counter. After pulling out her kit, she turned to face him, noting the way that his eyes widened in surprise when he saw what she held.

  *-*-*-*

  “What the hell are you doing?” Chase asked, wincing at the way his voice betrayed his nervousness.

  There was a reason he didn’t want anyone here. Well, besides the fact that he didn’t need anyone’s help, that is. He hadn’t had much luck with the nurses in the hospital, rehab or the few that his sister had managed to stick him with when he first came home.

  Several of them had abandoned him when he couldn’t move, leaving him lying in his own piss and screaming in pain. He’d been denied the basics of life, making him feel so damn helpless that he could have cried. He’d also dealt with a few that liked to use threats to get a reaction out of him. One of them had actually tried to go through with it. Now he was forced to watch as this strange woman came at him with a pair of scissors and he was helpless to move. He could fight back if he had to and would. He’d done it before and would do it again but didn’t change anything. He was completely at her mercy and he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anyone.

  She moved quickly behind him and he contemplated dropping forward and trying to crawl out of here, but she’d locked them in.

  Shit!

  “How do you like it?” she asked, confusing the hell out of him.

  “What?”

  “Your hair. How do you like it? Short or long?”

  He was...confused.

  “You’re cutting my hair?” he had to ask, needing a little clarification.

  “Yes. It needs it. How do you want it?”

  “Short,” he heard himself answer before he remembered that he was supposed to make her job difficult. He reached up and ran his hand through his long greasy hair and winced. It had been a long time since it had been cut. The last time he’d cut it had been about seven months ago and he’d been so disgusted by it that he’d shaved it off. The asshole, as he liked to refer t
o that prick, Melissa forced on him and the one he had to defend himself against, had gotten a kick out of making the rich boy beg for something. Chase refused to beg for anything as the asshole soon discovered.

  “Sounds good to me,” Sloane, he thought her name was, said.

  Knowing that he really didn’t have a choice, he sat perfectly still as she began clipping away, preparing himself for the worst. She hummed softly, as she worked, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. Was she going to make him look like an even bigger freak? Not that he went anywhere, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to be someone’s personal joke.

  Ten minutes later, she sighed with satisfaction as she put the scissors away only to come back with the electric clippers. His eyes narrowed on her while she leaned in front of him.

  “Your beard,” was all she said.

  “I like it,” he said defensively. He didn’t. Not really. It itched like hell, but he ran out of razor blades a month ago and the store that delivered his food always forgot them along with half his order. What the hell was a man supposed to do without Doritos?

  “It’s uneven, greasy and call me crazy, but with your beautiful hair, intense green eyes and coloring you’d look better without a beard or at least a shorter one. Let’s shave it now and if you don’t like the naked look, then you can always grow it back and trim it.”

  He discovered that he was too damn tired to argue. Thanks to her incessant cleaning earlier, he hadn’t been able to get in his customary four-hour afternoon nap. Just sitting here while she worked on him with that damn humming was lulling him to sleep.

  If he answered her, he didn’t remember. She probably just took his silence for an answer anyway. No doubt she was used to doing whatever she wanted with her patients because she knew that she could. That wasn’t going to be the case with him. At least, it wouldn’t once he wasn’t so fucking exhausted.

  She made quick work of his beard. Once she was done, she stepped back and appraised her work. Great, he was a fucking canvas now. A slow smile spread across her face, a fucking pity smile. He knew he was hideous and now, so did she.

  Sloane held a mirror in front of his face before he could look away. He blinked and then blinked again for good measure. His hair looked good. His face was...

  He turned away.

  “Get it away from me,” he said, hating to see the reminder of what he’d become. It was funny how a year and a half ago he’d had no problem looking in the mirror.

  “Well, I think you look very handsome,” she said with a pleased smile.

  “Who fucking cares what you think,” Chase bit out coldly.

  If he hurt her feelings, she didn’t show it. She smiled patiently as she walked back to the sink. As she searched for something on the counter, he felt his eyes start to drift shut. For a moment, he considered fighting against the exhaustion that was threatening to take over, but in the end, he simply gave in.

  Moments later his eyes blinked open when something was nudged into his hand. He looked down to find a new toothbrush covered in toothpaste loosely held in his hand. Without thought, he started brushing his teeth. A few seconds later, she took him completely off guard when she knelt down in front of him.

  Anger surged through him as he brushed his teeth a little harder than necessary. This was just what he fucking needed, a beautiful woman reminding him that he was no longer a man. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t his type. She was still a woman and he was a man that she didn’t know. She should be wary of him and she sure as hell shouldn’t be kneeling in front of him like he was a fucking eunuch.

  She continued to hum as she clipped his toenails, momentarily distracting him from his justified anger. He cringed at the looks of them. He’d really meant to get to them sooner. He opened his mouth to apologize and then promptly shut it. He wouldn’t apologize for anything.

  Once she was done, she stood up with a cheery smile that made him want to hurl. Instead, he spit a mouthful of toothpaste on the floor between her feet simply because he could.

  “Lovely,” she muttered, squishing her face up adorably and nearly making him smile.

  “Alright, moving along,” Sloane said softly, as she returned the clippers and his toothbrush to the counter before returning to his side. Smiling, she grabbed the handheld showerhead and turned the water on while he watched her every move.

  Sucking in a breath, he steeled himself for the revenge that she was about to lay on him. This was a popular move among the nurses that he’d dealt with. They’d turn the water on at full blast and “accidentally” hit him with scalding hot water or leave it cold, put the nozzle just out of reach and walk away, leaving him to freeze his balls off. Of course, their selection depended on just how much he’d managed to piss them off and what they thought they could get away with.

  Cold or hot, he was ready.

  Still smiling, she turned the water on, pointing the nozzle away from him.

  “Hmm, tell me if this is fine,” she mumbled as she carefully moved the nozzle until it was spraying by his hand, but not touching. “Well?”

  Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he flicked his hand into the water, expecting it to be ice-cold. He was surprised to find that it was hot, but not too hot. In fact, it was perfect, just the way he liked it.

  “It’s fine,” he said in a bored tone.

  She nodded her approval and placed the nozzle in the lower holder where he could reach it, something no one else had ever done for him before. He watched her hands like a hawk watched its prey, waiting for her to try and change the temperature of the water. When she didn’t, it made him more nervous.

  What the hell was her game?

  Sloane stepped out of the way and pointed the water on him. It startled him, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat there, letting the hot water seep into his bones. It felt good. Not that he would ever admit it.

  Instead, he grabbed the side rail and leaned forward to wet his hair. A bottle of his favorite shampoo was thrust into his hands as he moved to lean back. Taking the hint, he lathered his hair and then grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed his body, but he didn’t do it for her. No, he did it for himself. It felt so good to have hot water running down his body.

  Long after he was done, he continued to sit there enjoying the water. Soon he found himself nodding off but managed to force his eyes open when he felt a towel rub over his skin.

  “It’s okay. Let’s get you dried off and into a warm bed,” Sloane said soothingly.

  Too tired to argue, he simply sat there and allowed her to dry him off, move him to his wheelchair, and wheel him into his room. A few minutes later he was aware of the scent of fresh laundry and the feel of crisp, clean sheets against his skin.

  “Your urinal is by the bed and I’ll be right back with a pitcher of ice water in a few minutes. I’m going to leave the bathroom doors open just in case you need me. Okay?”

  His last thought before he dozed off was wondering why a young woman would be foolish enough to leave her bedroom door open for a man she’d just met. Then it hit him.

  He really wasn’t a man anymore.

  About the Author

  New York Times Bestselling author, R.L. Mathewson was born in Massachusetts. She’s known for her humor, quick wit and ability to write relatable characters. She currently has several paranormal and contemporary romance series published including the Neighbor from Hell series.

  Growing up, R.L. Mathewson was a painfully shy bookworm. After high school she attended college, worked as a bellhop, fast food cook, and a museum worker until she decided to take an EMT course. Working as an EMT helped her get over her shyness as well as left her with some fond memories and some rather disturbing ones that from time to time show up in one of her books.

  Today, R.L. Mathewson is the single mother of two children that keep her on her toes. She has a bit of a romance novel addiction as well as a major hot chocolate addiction and on a perfect day, she combines the two.

  If you’d like more i
nformation about this series or any other series by R.L. Mathewson, please visit www.Rlmathewson.com

  Thank you,

  R.L. Mathewson