Chapter 10
Rami's POV
“The bone, thankfully, doesn’t show a complete break, but you have a tibial stress fracture. Right here at the base near your ankle,” the doctor says, pointing to the image of my foot and ankle bones on the X-ray.
Super, I think. I’m pleased I wasn’t bitching about the immense pain for nothing, but also pissed that I now will have to rely on Grandma Julia way more.
Can you say bye-bye, freedom?
“I’d recommend an orthopedic boot to allow it to heal more efficiently.”
“Is there an alternative?” I ask, not wanting to limit my mobility any more than I have to.
“Nonsense, Rami, you’ll do as the doctor ordered,” Grandma Julia quips.
“He only recommends it, not demands it,” I reiterate.
Her eyes narrow marginally, daring me not to talk back and to do as I’m told. I have to bite back the eye roll and scoff, ‘cause I mean…does she even know me?
The truth is sobering. Of course she doesn’t. Because she’s made no effort to get to know me. Due to my one poor decision, which wasn’t even my fault, she thinks she has me all figured out. Well, I suppose it’s that and my mother’s multitude of poor choices.
“What about his head?” Grandma Julia asks, oblivious to my inner tirade.
“It’s not a concussion, but I’d recommend painkillers and an ice pack to help with the headaches.”
I nod and then immediately regret it; I swear I feel my brain rattling around in my skull.
“In the meantime, I can write a prescription for a slightly stronger painkiller for the next few days.”
I open my mouth to accept because between the throb in my ankle and my head, I’m not fully sure which direction is up.
But Grandma Julia cuts me off. “That won’t be necessary. Rami struggles with addiction, and I’d rather he not relapse.”
My jaw falls open.
Seriously, what in the actual fuck? I don’t struggle with addiction, nor have I ever. And no amount of explaining that night will ever make her see that.
The doctor’s bespectacled gaze widens only briefly before he taps away at his tablet, likely making a note of my supposed addiction on my chart.
Super, I repeat as my cheeks heat.
After Grandma Julia insists the doctor fit me for a boot, I follow her back out to the lobby where she pays.
Keeping my head down, I know I’m in for quite the scolding.
She’s silent while I limp my way to the car and during the entire ride home.
She doesn’t even mention the constant bouncing of my left leg.
No, she waits until we’re inside before saying anything.
“Complete your homework, and then you will join me for a Bible study.” Her voice remains gentle, though I know she’s hiding the malice deep in there somewhere.
“I–”
“Move along now, I will bring you lunch shortly,” she interrupts without raising her voice.
My teeth click together as I close my mouth without uttering another syllable. What’s the point?
I limp down the hallway to my room in a huff of frustration.
The thumping of my boot echoes off the hallway with every step.
Once I hear the graceful snick of my closed door, I plop onto the edge of my bed.
I run my fingers through my long hair and exhale the frustrated breath I’ve been holding back.
Grabbing hold of my pillow, I bury my face into it and scream.
Feeling at least a skosh better, my mind flashes to a pair of brown eyes with sparkles of gold throughout. Adriel.
He dressed and spoke as if he were from a different time entirely.
Perhaps this town fucked him up more than he’s letting on and that’s why he’s isolated himself so far away from everything. And because of that, he’s not used to interacting with other people.
A knot forms in my gut just like every time I think about him. Like there’s something deep down inside of me wanting—needing—to know more about him. Despite all of the aches running through me at the time, it was the first real fresh breath of air I’ve had since my sentencing.
The itch to go out and see him again makes me stand and take a step toward my bedroom door.
I pause at my door, hand on the doorknob, and rest my forehead on the cool wood.
The sound of Grandma Julia in the kitchen filters down the hallway, and the dull throb coming from my right ankle reminds me that I’m not going anywhere.
I close my eyes so tight until I see the vision of Adriel saying goodbye from a distance. He pointed to my stuff from that spot, refusing to come closer.
Why didn’t he walk me to it?
He seemed so worried at first that I was hurt and yet never moved to help me. In fact, the one time I attempted to touch him, he ducked away from my grasp. Not that I can blame him, we’re practically strangers.
It was the first time I think I’ve ever seen actual fear on someone’s face at the idea of a hug. Which is a little weird.
But then again, so is a witch living in the woods.
And yet, I have to see him again.
If anything, I need answers.
What if that fear pinching in his brows when I reached out to him was placed there because he had been hurt before? A knot behind my sternum draws my right fist up to knead at the ache which forces my attention to the raised scars on my wrist.
The image of the reversed fool card Yasmine pulled flashes to my mind. Recklessness. Perhaps Adriel trusted the wrong person too?
And maybe helping him is that metamorphosis I need to be truly free. Or at the very least it’ll act as a distraction until I can earn my real freedom from the courts.
Standing up straighter, I make a pact with myself that I’ll wait until dark to find him again. I’ll have to wait until after Grandma Julia is no longer keeping an eye on me.
When I didn’t return home on time last night, she called the police.
And when I limped in through the backdoor looking like I did, covered in dried blood, dirt, torn clothes, she was furious.
Her brows were pinched so tightly, it made her many wrinkles stand out even more.
And when she saw me, her mouth dropped open to berate me instantly.
I interrupted her before she could so only a gasp fell from her lips.
I lied and told her and the police that I had simply gotten lost in the woods and fallen.
The officer gave me a look after Grandma Julia thanked him for his time, and in that look, I could hear his disdain. Yup, I could hear it in his eyes. They spoke louder than his words ever could. They said, “You are the disappointment we all thought you were.”
I’m the drug-addicted gay boy, born of a Jezebel, that my grandmother took in to save out of the kindness of her heart.
My left fist clenches at my side, enough for my nails to cut into my palm. The pain urges me to direct this frustration outward. Release the building pressure. Further proving I’m the fuck up they all think I am.
Focusing on my breath, I inhale so deep my nostrils flare. On the exhale, I close my eyes and drop my head back. In. Out. In. Out.
The fist against my chest, bunches in my shirt, and bumps against my necklace. The warmth and comforting weight of it finally breaks through the fog. With another large inhale, I feel the blockage break away. The fresh oxygen clears my head and I know lashing out isn’t worth further punishment.
Feeling calmer, I open my eyes and limp to my desk in the far corner of my room. There’s no telling when she’ll be up here to check on me—erm…bring me lunch. Sitting on the high shelf is the heavy gold ring with a blood-red stone mounted in the center Sawyer gave me on the last day I saw him.
When I pick it up, the familiar weight in my palm feels like both a comforting hug and thorned vines wrapping around my heart.
My fingers lovingly run over the smooth stone as tears gather along my lower lashes.
The image of his grief and pain contorting his handsome face haunt me, even though I’m the one who put it there the night he gave the ring to me. The night I walked away from him.
After my accident, he was the only one to visit me in the hospital.
His tear-filled hug assured me that everything was going to be okay.
I know now that I was na?ve to the shit storm that was coming my way, but in his arms I didn’t care.
The following court proceedings were evidence of that, and I knew I couldn’t take him down with me.
He was my former British Lit professor, Professor Leopold.
So, our relationship was a secret. My life was over, and I refused to make him pay for my poor choices.
I can still remember that night with perfect clarity.
The way his arms pulled me in tight, and held me to his warm chest like I was something precious.
It was when he slipped the ring off his finger and gave it to me that my barely contained emotions boiled into gut-wrenching sobs.
I’d never seen the ring off his finger, which told me just how much I meant to him.
Turning the precious possession around in my fingers, I read the inscription on the inside. Stay true to you. My tears run down my cheeks now because I’m as far from being true as can be. He’d be so disappointed in me.
Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, my finger hovers over his contact like I’ve done a thousand times. And just like every time before, I chicken out.
What if he’s moved on?
I hope he has, but I know I’m not strong enough to confirm that.
Returning the ring to the shelf, I quickly wipe away the tears and attempt to pull myself together. Tears are not something I want to bother explaining to Grandma Julia.
Opening my laptop, I click through some emails and check the discussion boards for my classes.
It doesn’t take me long to complete the bit of work I missed from the day; I was already caught up and a bit ahead with my writing assignments in my psychology and education classes.
Just needed a few finishing touches on my school counselor case essay.