Short Temper
Short Temper
Suddenly I was awake from the heat of my Homes 1Touch heater and queen-size, burgundy, velvet blanket. The rain drizzled down the house’s single pane windows and cardboard slash duct tape idea I used to cover the window I broke with my cell phone. Another day of work and time for a shower, I thought. I stumbled off my bed into the terribly cold hallway with a thick lavender robe to conceal some heat from my room. Harley came prancing at my feet, meowing her hideous “pet me” meow at me. I bent down, scratched her head, and shoveled toward the bathroom. She quickly followed me but I closed the door, turning on the shower to drive her away. I did spend time getting her comfortable with me. Harley was a dark brown with tan patches skinny cat. She was a little crazy but calmed down when my roommates moved into this house. Today, I wanted to be alone.
Completely refreshed and ready to go to work, I tied my wet, curly hair into a pony tail and clipped down the loose ends. Eye make up was in place, good enough for me at least, and I rushed out the door with thirteen minutes to ten thirty. In the back of my head, I wanted to get straight to work. I loved working for my boss, Mark Beard. He was the best; helped me out whenever I needed it and not to mention nice eye candy around the shop. He was a tall, about six foot two, incredibly skinny, yet carried such an aurora of strength, it made up for lost weight. He was dark, but looked mixed. The only things I knew of him was he could speak many different languages, had one child, and had more than one job. My father warned me not to speak of my private life, so I never asked about anyone else’s.
The rain poured down hard. With my windshield wipers on full, it was still difficult to see the road. Drivers slowed down immensely. My temper boiled as I tried to get around a slow, swerving mini van. I prayed no children were in that car. Fortunately, the lights were on my side. I cleared the Lone Tree and Deer Valley intersection and pulled right into the Albertson’s shopping center. I parked my dark green 1998 Mercury Sable, Leoma, on the side of Round Table Pizza next to the dumpster, and skipped in.
Tera Hawkins was behind the counter, doing her usual morning paperwork.
“Hey, Tera,” I called.
“Hey, Marge,” she responded, with a quick look and smile, then back down to her work.
I arrived early to get more work done around the shop. My mornings consisted of replacing the empty space for boxes, arranging the two liters, prep the cut and wrap, little cleaning, ice, and then make the delivery to the hospital at eleven. I clocked in, then studied the back to see what needed to be done. The cutting board and knife was already out. The box area was completely bare. Kathryn Martinez noticed my disappointment.
“I know you make so many boxes and no left!” she explained, throwing her arms up. Kathryn was a Hispanic mother of four boys. She worked hard prepping the restaurant with ingredients for the pizzas, but most words buzzed around that all we did was talk in the mornings. That was fine with me.
“I know, all we do is talking, that’s what they say, ‘They talking,’” as her hand mouthed the words.
I laughed. “I’ll just make more. They make lots of boxes, too.”
As a worker here, I tried not to say anything negative about anyone. The word spread quickly around here and I knew since I held most of their secrets. I never repeated their opinions. I just smiled and nodded. Everyday, the same dirty kitchen had to be cleaned. Hooders were down on the floor, delivery bags horribly assembled on the shelf, half empty cooler, and ants. I wished the managers came in more often in the mornings to see how we did. They were sleeping in until one to come in at two.
The deliveries began to stack up as did Tera’s load up front. I began hauling the many bags of pizzas and the like to my car for an order to Keiser Permanente up the street. Tera noticed the number of orders.
“Want me to call help?”
“No,” I grunted, positioning two sodas, “Everything’s pretty close and I can handle it.” I rushed out the door.
Upon returning, I saw him. I placed my wet bags on the shelf and noticed the name “Darren Golden” on a delivery.
“What’s going on?” I asked Tera.
She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know why he’s here either. He said Mark called him in. I told him you were okay but he already clocked in.” She walked over to the computer to check the order to which he assigned his name. “What the, he changed your name.”
My blood boiled. I approached Darren and he turned toward me. He was a short, white guy with a smudged, little old man face. I couldn’t place his age, but at that point, it didn’t concern me.
“What are you doing here? I don’t need your help. I told Tera that.”
“Mark called me in,” he said sternly.
“I don’t need your help. He tells me if I need help then go on, but I’m okay. I can handle this myself,” I protested.
“It’s already assigned under my name,” he looked away.
Bitch. I stormed to the cut and wrap, boxing the pizzas. Everyone could sense my anger. How could Mark call him in? I never got help when I actually needed it, so why now? Why this one morning? It didn’t make any sense. I’ve done much more than that in one day- recently. He did his best to help me, but I wanted the challenge. He always put me down as a “woman” and did all or got someone to do the “big lifting” for me… I automatically rejected these ideas, but he was a handsome gentleman and sometimes I had to roll with it. I wondered if they ever thought about when they were not there. Guess not.
I could barely see straight. Noticing I was glaring in angry thought, I collected myself the best I could, picking at the side of my thumb. I told Tera I was capable of finishing this orders without help. If I needed it, then I’d ask. I walked out the door to the side of the building. The door to my car closed and the engine fired.
Leoma made a U-turn on Marita down Deer Valley and down town. My speakers covered Coheed and Cambria’s IV album in my six-disc CD player in my trunk. I played this album over a hundred times yet never tired of their melodic minds. I found myself dancing and singing, calming my anger. I looked down at my ticket, reading:
1418 ROEBUCK WAY CROSS STR: MONTARA
Whenever I drove down this road, it reminded me of stopping by Susan’s house off Parkspring Circle. We used to meet up to eat lunch. I would try to make the most delicious meals I could. She has been a friend for over four years.
My eyes shifted to my rearview mirror, surprised with two close headlights, coming in fast. I picked up speed to avoid tailgating, but enough not to go over the speed limit. Rain was pounding down on my windshield and the back windows glared the lights. The vehicle followed swerving into the bike lane to get up the side of my car. I kept a close eye on him, blocking his every move. I wondered why he didn’t take Buckskin or Steed Way to get around me when he did the unthinkable. His engine roared as he jolted into the opposite lane of traffic. I glanced forward to see a slow moving Windstar creep around the corner from a stop sign. Oh god.
He cruised passed my car, hurling down the residential street toward the van. I slammed on my brakes and pulled over to the side of Country Hills. Suddenly, I saw the car U-turn on Montara and stopped his car. The red 1998 Camero with unfitting spinners stayed at the stop sign, allowing the van pass. I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding from the ordeal. The Camero raced from the scene.
I cursed under my breath as I put my car in drive and turned left onto Montara. I found my music was off and pushed the volume button in to get back to place. No words came out for singing, only deep thought of what had just happened. I found myself shaking as I turned onto Roebuck.
Calm down, Marge, got deliveries to make. Okay… fourteen- eighteen, eighteen… seventeen hundred? Not this again. The wrong address. I tried to decipher if any of the address may sound like fourteen- eighteen… I slowly crept down the street and saw no such block. I made a U-turn at Deerfield Road and parked my car. I muted my CD player, picked up my cell phone and dialed the customer.
David, hmm.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is David available?” I asked in my most sugary voice.
“This is he, who is this?”
“Oh sorry, this is Marge with Round Table. I wanted to-”
“Fucking lost again,” he interrupted. “You guys are the most incompetent-Look. For the last time. Fourteen- eighteen Roe: R-O-E, Buck: B-U-C-K.”
“Well, sir, I’m on the block and there is no-”
“Don’t tell me it’s not there!” the man exploded.
I was losing my patience. I didn’t have time to go to invisible addresses. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll look again.” I hung up.
As I was about to put Leoma in drive, I was startled by a knock on my back window. I turned around to greet a two by four blasting through my back windshield. My arms automatically hid my face from the shattering glass as a scream escaped my throat.
“Get out the car, bitch!” a deep man’s voice demanded.
I could feel strong hands grip my arms and yank my out of my car. I began to fight back. I couldn’t afford to let these bastards steal my car. They were too strong. One threw me against the concrete, hard. I felt blood trickle down the side of my mouth as a tooth fell to the ground. Another man hoisted me up to his shoulders then tossed me against the side of my car, causing the door to slam on my neck. More blood. The scene became blurry as a familiar smile approached me.
“Marge, Marge, Marge. You were so good. What happened?”
My head was spinning from the blows. My gaze fixed on the recognized jester-like smile. Darren.
“God, we loved you in there. I came in to help, you little brat!” His foot crushed my ribs into the pavement. “I’ll teach you to respect me!” I tried my best to yell but nothing came out. My body refused to move. This was the end. I was going to die in my own neighborhood.
The stronger men picked up my limp body began making plans of what to do with me. A dark grey PT Cruiser crawled up the hill. The hunchback car parked across the street as a tall, dark figure ran toward us.
“You can’t go through with this!”
The voice was so familiar. I strained to see who it was.
“Mark, this is my fight! You told me that!” Darren cried.
Mark? My boss!
“You can’t do this to her! You’re killing her!” Mark snapped.
Darren pulled out a silver gun. He clicked back with his thumb and stood his ground. The men dropped me back by my car. Mark shot an apologetic look and focused back on Darren. My hand met with my wounds. I could see my blood trail to my feet. A drop pricked my forehead as I turned up to see the men with my blood on their hands. They rubbed them together and began wiping them on whatever dry clothes I had left.
“I want respect, Mark. You told me I would get it. I don’t need a bunch of bitches trying to show me up! I’ll fucking kill her! I don’t care!”
“Please, Darren, think about this. You’ll go to jail. There’s other ways.”
“Not with her,” Darren faced me.
I froze. His gun was pointed right at me. He began to walk toward me and motioned the men away from me.
“You, little princess… Not anymore.” He spit on me and cocked his gun next to my temple. “It’s pure and simple. I get rid of her, things are back to the way they were. I’ll just take her schedule and no one will have to know any of this happened. She was going to move remember? She never said a word!”
I noticed a handle sticking out of Darren’s cargo pants’ pocket. I prayed it was a knife and quickly grasped it. Darren jerked away from my arm as I felt the blade straightened into the back of his knee. He let out a piercing screech, clutching his knee and dropping the gun. Mark pounced for it and faced off the rest of the men. He checked to see if the gun had bullets then clicked it back and shot each of their temples. Their huge bodies dropped to the ground. He paced toward Darren who was writhing on the ground from the knife, trying to pull it out.
“Got it in there good,” Darren scoffed, scrunching his face in pain.
Mark was already calling 9-1-1 as he took my hand. I was too out of it to comprehend his touch. He smiled his beautiful trusting smile as his light brown eyes met with mine, “I’ll take you home,” he whispered. I weakly smiled back then collapsed into his chest.
Morning came with frightening brightness. I was rested, which was strange since I slept on a couch. I found myself surrounded by luxury: a king size bed with the most gorgeous gold and black comforter and sheets. A huge bay window sat to my left side, displaying a magnificent view of the hills. There were two huge paintings of Mandarin art in gold and black on the white walls. A small dresser sat underneath a painting across from the bed with small gold trinkets on its top. I stretched my arms up, abruptly stopping from a sudden pain. The memory of the beating came flooding back as I laid back down, facing away from the window. I noticed the bedroom door ajar and tried to take a peak. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Mark walking down the hallway with a tray in an open black robe with Simpson’s boxers on his skinny legs. I giggled a bit as he opened the door, my heart skipping.
“Glad to see you’re doing better,” he smiled at me, placing the tray down in front of me. He had an incredible body. I caught myself drooling. “There’s tea, some toast, and the remote. Please feel free to make yourself at home.” He turned and sighed, “I don’t know how to explain yesterday. They insisted you needed help but if you didn’t then I’m sorry. Still, please, you must keep your temper at work. Darren won’t come back. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” His soft hands squeezed my shoulder with his eyes deep in mine. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
I had no response. I shifted my eyes down on the design of the comforter as I waited for him to leave the room. I did want to apologize for my behavior, but I couldn’t control it. My head began to hurt, so I rustled against the blankets to get comfortable. The thoughts flooded in to me. What did they plan? Why did they attack me so viciously? My stomach suddenly knotted tightly as laughter echoed from the hallway. More than one set of feet came down the hall. I stopped breathing.
“She’s in here,” a voice, I thought to be Mark, said.
The door slowly opened. I launched back toward the wall. Surprised, Mark quickly reassured me that no one was going to hurt me.
“This is Dr. Williams,” Mark introduced, “I called him to check on your bruises and cuts to make sure you’d be okay here.”
My stomach still knotted as the doctor came closer. He was an older man of about five foot eleven with a strong build and silver grey hair. His hands were of a working man’s, swollen and scarred. He wasted no time filling a needle.
“What is that?”
My question was ignored as the milligrams heightened. I noticed Mark had gone from the room. The door was locked. The large doctor lunged for my neck with the needle. I could feel the cuts of his dry skin on my neck as he stabbed the needle’s end into my spine. The pain shot threw me insanely as I wretched my back in a horrible arch. The doctor removed the needle from my neck and patched it.
“All… done…,” the doctor called toward the swirling door. Everything became slow. The doctor’s words…
Mark was in the room. I smiled at him, “What-what was th-that?” The room grew darker.
Mark slid his hands, closing my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Suddenly I was awake from the heat of my Homes 1Touch heater and queen-size, burgundy, velvet blanket. The rain drizzled down the house’s single pane windows and cardboard slash duct tape idea I used to cover the window I broke with my cell phone. Another day of work and time for a shower, I thought. I stumbled off my bed into the terribly cold hallway with a thick lavender robe to conceal some heat from my room. Harley came prancing at my feet, meowing her hideous “pet me” meow at me. I bent down, scratched her head, and shoveled toward the bathroom. She quickly followed me but I closed the door, turning on the shower to drive her away. I did spend time getting her comfortable with me. Harley was a dark brown with tan patches skinny cat. She was a little crazy but calmed down when my roommates moved into this house. Today, I wanted to be alone.
Completely refreshed and ready to go to work, I tied my wet, curly hair into a pony tail and clipped down the loose ends. Eye make up was in place, good enough for me at least, and I rushed out the door with thirteen minutes to ten thirty. In the back of my head, I wanted to get straight to work. I loved working for my boss, Mark Beard. He was the best; helped me out whenever I needed it and not to mention nice eye candy around the shop. He was a tall, about six foot two, incredibly skinny, yet carried such an aurora of strength, it made up for lost weight. He was dark, but looked mixed. The only things I knew of him was he could speak many different languages, had one child, and had more than one job. My father warned me not to speak of my private life, so I never asked about anyone else’s.
The rain poured down hard. With my windshield wipers on full, it was still difficult to see the road. Drivers slowed down immensely. My temper boiled as I tried to get around a slow, swerving mini van. I prayed no children were in that car. Fortunately, the lights were on my side. I cleared the Lone Tree and Deer Valley intersection and pulled right into the Albertson’s shopping center. I parked my dark green 1998 Mercury Sable, Leoma, on the side of Round Table Pizza next to the dumpster, and skipped in.
Tera Hawkins was behind the counter, doing her usual morning paperwork.
“Hey, Tera,” I called.
“Hey, Marge,” she responded, with a quick look and smile, then back down to her work.
I arrived early to get more work done around the shop. My mornings consisted of replacing the empty space for boxes, arranging the two liters, prep the cut and wrap, little cleaning, ice, and then make the delivery to the hospital at eleven. I clocked in, then studied the back to see what needed to be done. The cutting board and knife was already out. The box area was completely bare. Kathryn Martinez noticed my disappointment.
“I know you make so many boxes and no left!” she explained, throwing her arms up. Kathryn was a Hispanic mother of four boys. She worked hard prepping the restaurant with ingredients for the pizzas, but most words buzzed around that all we did was talk in the mornings. That was fine with me.
“I know, all we do is talking, that’s what they say, ‘They talking,’” as her hand mouthed the words.
I laughed. “I’ll just make more. They make lots of boxes, too.”
As a worker here, I tried not to say anything negative about anyone. The word spread quickly around here and I knew since I held most of their secrets. I never repeated their opinions. I just smiled and nodded. Everyday, the same dirty kitchen had to be cleaned. Hooders were down on the floor, delivery bags horribly assembled on the shelf, half empty cooler, and ants. I wished the managers came in more often in the mornings to see how we did. They were sleeping in until one to come in at two.
The deliveries began to stack up as did Tera’s load up front. I began hauling the many bags of pizzas and the like to my car for an order to Keiser Permanente up the street. Tera noticed the number of orders.
“Want me to call help?”
“No,” I grunted, positioning two sodas, “Everything’s pretty close and I can handle it.” I rushed out the door.
Upon returning, I saw him. I placed my wet bags on the shelf and noticed the name “Darren Golden” on a delivery.
“What’s going on?” I asked Tera.
She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know why he’s here either. He said Mark called him in. I told him you were okay but he already clocked in.” She walked over to the computer to check the order to which he assigned his name. “What the, he changed your name.”
My blood boiled. I approached Darren and he turned toward me. He was a short, white guy with a smudged, little old man face. I couldn’t place his age, but at that point, it didn’t concern me.
“What are you doing here? I don’t need your help. I told Tera that.”
“Mark called me in,” he said sternly.
“I don’t need your help. He tells me if I need help then go on, but I’m okay. I can handle this myself,” I protested.
“It’s already assigned under my name,” he looked away.
Bitch. I stormed to the cut and wrap, boxing the pizzas. Everyone could sense my anger. How could Mark call him in? I never got help when I actually needed it, so why now? Why this one morning? It didn’t make any sense. I’ve done much more than that in one day- recently. He did his best to help me, but I wanted the challenge. He always put me down as a “woman” and did all or got someone to do the “big lifting” for me… I automatically rejected these ideas, but he was a handsome gentleman and sometimes I had to roll with it. I wondered if they ever thought about when they were not there. Guess not.
I could barely see straight. Noticing I was glaring in angry thought, I collected myself the best I could, picking at the side of my thumb. I told Tera I was capable of finishing this orders without help. If I needed it, then I’d ask. I walked out the door to the side of the building. The door to my car closed and the engine fired.
Leoma made a U-turn on Marita down Deer Valley and down town. My speakers covered Coheed and Cambria’s IV album in my six-disc CD player in my trunk. I played this album over a hundred times yet never tired of their melodic minds. I found myself dancing and singing, calming my anger. I looked down at my ticket, reading:
1418 ROEBUCK WAY CROSS STR: MONTARA
Whenever I drove down this road, it reminded me of stopping by Susan’s house off Parkspring Circle. We used to meet up to eat lunch. I would try to make the most delicious meals I could. She has been a friend for over four years.
My eyes shifted to my rearview mirror, surprised with two close headlights, coming in fast. I picked up speed to avoid tailgating, but enough not to go over the speed limit. Rain was pounding down on my windshield and the back windows glared the lights. The vehicle followed swerving into the bike lane to get up the side of my car. I kept a close eye on him, blocking his every move. I wondered why he didn’t take Buckskin or Steed Way to get around me when he did the unthinkable. His engine roared as he jolted into the opposite lane of traffic. I glanced forward to see a slow moving Windstar creep around the corner from a stop sign. Oh god.
He cruised passed my car, hurling down the residential street toward the van. I slammed on my brakes and pulled over to the side of Country Hills. Suddenly, I saw the car U-turn on Montara and stopped his car. The red 1998 Camero with unfitting spinners stayed at the stop sign, allowing the van pass. I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding from the ordeal. The Camero raced from the scene.
I cursed under my breath as I put my car in drive and turned left onto Montara. I found my music was off and pushed the volume button in to get back to place. No words came out for singing, only deep thought of what had just happened. I found myself shaking as I turned onto Roebuck.
Calm down, Marge, got deliveries to make. Okay… fourteen- eighteen, eighteen… seventeen hundred? Not this again. The wrong address. I tried to decipher if any of the address may sound like fourteen- eighteen… I slowly crept down the street and saw no such block. I made a U-turn at Deerfield Road and parked my car. I muted my CD player, picked up my cell phone and dialed the customer.
David, hmm.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is David available?” I asked in my most sugary voice.
“This is he, who is this?”
“Oh sorry, this is Marge with Round Table. I wanted to-”
“Fucking lost again,” he interrupted. “You guys are the most incompetent-Look. For the last time. Fourteen- eighteen Roe: R-O-E, Buck: B-U-C-K.”
“Well, sir, I’m on the block and there is no-”
“Don’t tell me it’s not there!” the man exploded.
I was losing my patience. I didn’t have time to go to invisible addresses. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll look again.” I hung up.
As I was about to put Leoma in drive, I was startled by a knock on my back window. I turned around to greet a two by four blasting through my back windshield. My arms automatically hid my face from the shattering glass as a scream escaped my throat.
“Get out the car, bitch!” a deep man’s voice demanded.
I could feel strong hands grip my arms and yank my out of my car. I began to fight back. I couldn’t afford to let these bastards steal my car. They were too strong. One threw me against the concrete, hard. I felt blood trickle down the side of my mouth as a tooth fell to the ground. Another man hoisted me up to his shoulders then tossed me against the side of my car, causing the door to slam on my neck. More blood. The scene became blurry as a familiar smile approached me.
“Marge, Marge, Marge. You were so good. What happened?”
My head was spinning from the blows. My gaze fixed on the recognized jester-like smile. Darren.
“God, we loved you in there. I came in to help, you little brat!” His foot crushed my ribs into the pavement. “I’ll teach you to respect me!” I tried my best to yell but nothing came out. My body refused to move. This was the end. I was going to die in my own neighborhood.
The stronger men picked up my limp body began making plans of what to do with me. A dark grey PT Cruiser crawled up the hill. The hunchback car parked across the street as a tall, dark figure ran toward us.
“You can’t go through with this!”
The voice was so familiar. I strained to see who it was.
“Mark, this is my fight! You told me that!” Darren cried.
Mark? My boss!
“You can’t do this to her! You’re killing her!” Mark snapped.
Darren pulled out a silver gun. He clicked back with his thumb and stood his ground. The men dropped me back by my car. Mark shot an apologetic look and focused back on Darren. My hand met with my wounds. I could see my blood trail to my feet. A drop pricked my forehead as I turned up to see the men with my blood on their hands. They rubbed them together and began wiping them on whatever dry clothes I had left.
“I want respect, Mark. You told me I would get it. I don’t need a bunch of bitches trying to show me up! I’ll fucking kill her! I don’t care!”
“Please, Darren, think about this. You’ll go to jail. There’s other ways.”
“Not with her,” Darren faced me.
I froze. His gun was pointed right at me. He began to walk toward me and motioned the men away from me.
“You, little princess… Not anymore.” He spit on me and cocked his gun next to my temple. “It’s pure and simple. I get rid of her, things are back to the way they were. I’ll just take her schedule and no one will have to know any of this happened. She was going to move remember? She never said a word!”
I noticed a handle sticking out of Darren’s cargo pants’ pocket. I prayed it was a knife and quickly grasped it. Darren jerked away from my arm as I felt the blade straightened into the back of his knee. He let out a piercing screech, clutching his knee and dropping the gun. Mark pounced for it and faced off the rest of the men. He checked to see if the gun had bullets then clicked it back and shot each of their temples. Their huge bodies dropped to the ground. He paced toward Darren who was writhing on the ground from the knife, trying to pull it out.
“Got it in there good,” Darren scoffed, scrunching his face in pain.
Mark was already calling 9-1-1 as he took my hand. I was too out of it to comprehend his touch. He smiled his beautiful trusting smile as his light brown eyes met with mine, “I’ll take you home,” he whispered. I weakly smiled back then collapsed into his chest.
Morning came with frightening brightness. I was rested, which was strange since I slept on a couch. I found myself surrounded by luxury: a king size bed with the most gorgeous gold and black comforter and sheets. A huge bay window sat to my left side, displaying a magnificent view of the hills. There were two huge paintings of Mandarin art in gold and black on the white walls. A small dresser sat underneath a painting across from the bed with small gold trinkets on its top. I stretched my arms up, abruptly stopping from a sudden pain. The memory of the beating came flooding back as I laid back down, facing away from the window. I noticed the bedroom door ajar and tried to take a peak. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Mark walking down the hallway with a tray in an open black robe with Simpson’s boxers on his skinny legs. I giggled a bit as he opened the door, my heart skipping.
“Glad to see you’re doing better,” he smiled at me, placing the tray down in front of me. He had an incredible body. I caught myself drooling. “There’s tea, some toast, and the remote. Please feel free to make yourself at home.” He turned and sighed, “I don’t know how to explain yesterday. They insisted you needed help but if you didn’t then I’m sorry. Still, please, you must keep your temper at work. Darren won’t come back. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” His soft hands squeezed my shoulder with his eyes deep in mine. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
I had no response. I shifted my eyes down on the design of the comforter as I waited for him to leave the room. I did want to apologize for my behavior, but I couldn’t control it. My head began to hurt, so I rustled against the blankets to get comfortable. The thoughts flooded in to me. What did they plan? Why did they attack me so viciously? My stomach suddenly knotted tightly as laughter echoed from the hallway. More than one set of feet came down the hall. I stopped breathing.
“She’s in here,” a voice, I thought to be Mark, said.
The door slowly opened. I launched back toward the wall. Surprised, Mark quickly reassured me that no one was going to hurt me.
“This is Dr. Williams,” Mark introduced, “I called him to check on your bruises and cuts to make sure you’d be okay here.”
My stomach still knotted as the doctor came closer. He was an older man of about five foot eleven with a strong build and silver grey hair. His hands were of a working man’s, swollen and scarred. He wasted no time filling a needle.
“What is that?”
My question was ignored as the milligrams heightened. I noticed Mark had gone from the room. The door was locked. The large doctor lunged for my neck with the needle. I could feel the cuts of his dry skin on my neck as he stabbed the needle’s end into my spine. The pain shot threw me insanely as I wretched my back in a horrible arch. The doctor removed the needle from my neck and patched it.
“All… done…,” the doctor called toward the swirling door. Everything became slow. The doctor’s words…
Mark was in the room. I smiled at him, “What-what was th-that?” The room grew darker.
Mark slid his hands, closing my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”