Chapter 6
Six
Riley
Two days go by, and there really was a real bed all this time.
I’ve slept comfortably in it in between appointments.
They were basic follow-ups on my finger.
He cleaned and rebandaged my wound and checked for pain in surrounding areas.
While I was asleep last night, I fell off the bed, bumping my head, with no recollection of it happening, and I woke up on the floor in pain.
He rushed in and treated me for that too, monitoring me throughout the day and checking for nausea or dizziness.
“You’re sure you’re okay? Not feeling too heavy on your feet?” he asks as I water the plants hanging above the kitchen sink.
“I’m sure.”
My hand brushes a little too hard on the edge of the clay pot when I randomly lose my balance.
“What was that?” He looks away from the whistling tea kettle, looking at me briefly with raised brows before turning off the stove.
“I . . . I guess I’m a little dizzy after all. Either that or I’m not getting enough sleep and probably need a nap.”
“Do you usually take naps?” He removes the kettle from the burner.
I shrug. “Sometimes. Mostly when I have to skip lunch that day. Helps bypass the hunger I feel at the time.” I frown at the red staining the bandage on my finger when I look at my throbbing hand.
His lips turn down too, eyes filling with what appears to be disappointment and whatever was swimming in there that day he stitched me up. Not protectiveness but something close . . . maybe.
“That’s not healthy. You should never skip meals.”
“That’s easy for someone like you to say. Not everyone’s able to have steak dinner every night.”
“I usually don’t,” he says nonchalantly, reaching for two mugs. “It just seemed like you really enjoyed it the first time I made it, so I ordered some more from the store not far from here.”
“Again, easy for someone like you.”
He huffs a laugh. “I guess so, but I won’t feel bad for what I have. I’ve worked hard for it.”
“I work hard too.”
His laughter deepens, turning into a rumbling noise. “Is that what you call taking things that don’t belong to you?”
“You mean from rich people who already have so much that they don’t know what to do with it? I bet most don’t even realize they’re missing anything.”
He fills both cups, not saying anything for a long time, and when he opens his mouth again, he’s looking directly into my eyes. “I bet they miss it more than you realize. Some people work so much that those things you don’t think they even notice anymore are all they have.”
“Is . . . is that how you feel about what I took from you.”
“Maybe.” He rubs his lips together and then his gaze follows mine to my bleeding finger. “We should take care of that.”
Eyes staying on my bandage, I nod. “Yeah. I thought maybe it would stop on its own, but it’s practically soaking now.”
“And that will only make you dizzier if it keeps going. Come on.” He steps away from the counter,abandoning everything he was doing before to take me by the arm and lead me to his exam room.
I sit on the edge of the table, wiggling my bare toes in nothing but a gown and underwear.
“How’s the head?” he asks, shining light in my eyes while running a warm towel over my skin.
“Not too bad. A little throbby, but I’m also tired.”
“I’ll be quick. I just want to take proper precautions. Now’s the best time to retake that temperature too. Lean over the table and lift your gown.”
I do it without questioning him, stretching my arms out.
He tugs down my underwear, and I flinch at the cold lube he spreads around my rim.
The thermometer slowly goes in, and he teases my sensitive areas with it before holding it still.
It’s the longest minute of my life. A loud beep sounds around us and he pulls away, coming back to wipe my hole clean, reaching every crevice with slow strokes.
My temperature is normal and he puts a new bandage on my head, handing me two ibuprofen before we leave the room. We stick to the usual schedule that I’ve become accustomed to, eating dinner together, showering separately, and him tucking me into bed.
“Need anything else before I go?” He stands in the doorway and his hand hovers over the light switch.
“A glass of water.”
He nods. “I can get that for you. Don’t drink too much, though. Or you’ll be up all night peeing.”
“Doctor knows best,” I muse, giving him a salute.
He winks. “And it’s good that you keep remembering that.
” Disappearing into the main part of the basement, he leaves the light on.
I’m tempted to follow him to see if the door opens behind him.
Does he lock it? My skin itches and I peer through the doorway as if I’d be able to see the door to the kitchen from here.
Laughing at myself, I shake my head. I fluff my pillow behind my head and slide the blanket up before pulling it down again.
Floorboards creek and Doc is back, holding a cup in his hand with his lips pressed into a thin line. He sets the water on the nightstand, and I notice he’s only filled the glass halfway as it swooshes from side to side.
“Is your pain still okay?” His forehead lifts and I touch my head.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“We should give you something so it stays that way. It’s good to stay ahead of it.”
“More ibuprofen?”
His lips curl in the corners. “Yeah . . . that.” He pats his pocket. “Luckily I brought some with me just in case.”
“You really are staying ahead of everything.”
“Yeah. Doctor knows best, remember?”
I swallow hard as he grabs at my arm to help me sit up. He hands me the pill from a small baggy and it’s larger than the last one. Ignoring the tiny detail, I place it on my tongue as he carefully watches me, and I chase it down with water until the chalky taste is gone.
“And this is why I didn’t bring you a whole glass. You need to learn to pace yourself more. When it comes to food too.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling small as his eyes lock onto mine. “I’ll try.”
“I know.” His smile lifts and he pats my head. “Now, back down in the bed you go. Don’t want to sleep too elevated or you’ll wake up with a crick in your neck.”
Or do I? I might spend all tomorrow rubbing my back and popping it, but at least it’ll give him something else to treat.
It could mean more time here. No. No, I want to leave, remember?
Yes, this bed is comfortable, and it’s been a long while since I haven’t had to skip a meal, but I need to get home.
I need to handle things with the assholes who put me in this situation.
“You listening, or are you falling asleep with your eyes open?”
“I . . . I’m falling asleep, I guess.” I blink my eyes and sink down until my head is in the center of the pillow.
He gives a nod of approval, and some weird zingy sensation climbs up my spine, only growing more electric when he lifts the covers to my chin. He presses the sides around me, humming a tune I don’t recognize while occasionally looking up at me to offer me a soft smile. “All snug as a bug.”
“Feels good,” I say.
“Not feeling too trapped?”
I start to shake my head then stop. “No.”
“We’ll go a little tighter, then. It’s said to help prevent sudden, involuntary movements, decreasing the risk of tossing and turning.”
“Like a weighted blanket,” I counter.
“Exactly,” he says with his eyebrows raised. “This will be the perfect substitute.” He shoves his fingers into the crevices between my body and the bed. The blanket hugs tighter around me until I’m no longer able to wiggle my arms.
“Now you’re snug as a bug.”
“Yeah. A non-wiggling one.”
He laughs and ruffles my hair. “Night, Riley.”
“Night, Doc.”
“No Doc. Only Sam right now. It’s important you recognize the difference.”
My stomach knots. “Night, Sam.”
***
My eyes open and pain shoots up my legs from my knees.
I’m on the floor with my hands sticking out in front of me as I finish gaining consciousness.
How did I get on the floor when Sam tucked me in so tightly?
I never realized how restless I was when I slept.
No one had ever told me about it before.
I mean, Stephen fell asleep watching TV in the living room a lot but . . . is that why?
My eyes blink some more and I grip onto the bed, groaning loudly when I try to stand.
I must have hit the floor harder than I realize, and when I’m finally standing all the way up my head spins.
Leaning forward, I fall to my side in bed and roll to the center.
Stretching out makes things worse so I curl up on my side, and I’m worried I’ll have to rock myself to sleep while sharp throbs crawl deeper inside me, until the door snicks open.
Feet pat against the floor and the bed dips when Sam lowers himself beside me. He rubs a hand through my hair, demanding I tell him where it hurts. My body shakes, mouth opening only to make a small whimpering sound.
“If you can’t tell me, then we’ll have to do a full body exam.”
“I . . . I . . .”
“An exam it is, then,” he says, his voice matching the distress I feel. “It’s okay. I’m here. Your doctor is here.”
He tugs down the blanket, gently rolling me to my back, and he presses on my right shoulder first. “Does this hurt?”
I shake my head.
“Hmm . . . what about this side?” He repeats the action to my left side, and my eyes move from side to side again.
“How about I keep touching and you let out a sound when I reach it.”
I nod, my bottom lip shaking as he drags his hand to the center of my body. I’m only wearing pajama pants. His skin is caressing my skin, the tips of his fingers grazing my nipple as he dips his hand lower. He keeps going, touching my knotting stomach and brushing over my happy trail.
“Hmm. Must be lower.” His fingers stop to press above my groin. He feels around my cock, never once touching it but getting very close and causing it to jerk.
“Am I getting warmer?”
I nod.