Page 57 of Fiery Little Thing
Yes, there are manyhimson my shit list, but this particular culprit’s name starts withEand is the reason I’m hobbling around on crutches with a sprained ankle—the bruised cervix is courtesy of a differenthim.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to do the exact same thing to that six-foot-something wall of drop-dead gorgeousness, but he redeemed himself too many times within a couple hours to really kick my gears into place.
After he made me come twice, I was ready for round three when he demanded to get Dr. Van der Merwe to reexamine my foot. Then, I limped after the doctor tried sending me away, and Kohen got me crutches and an ankle brace. Maybe it’s overkill, butnow I also have a daily dose of anti-inflammatories. My heart couldn’t take how gooey it made me feel.
Figures the only time a doctor has taken me seriously was when a man was there. It’s a good thing Kohen threw hands on my behalf too, because when I looked at my ankle this morning, it was a beautiful shade of cerulean.
What I want right now goes beyond an ibuprofen. It hurts, yeah, but I need my brain to shut the fuck up for two solid seconds, and the only person who can get me what I need is the prick who caused all this to begin with.
If Elijah hadn’t gotten all hopped-up and came at me, neither of us would have tumbled down the bleachers and I wouldn’t have gotten a taste of something I’ll never have.
Screw Kohen for doing those things and saying those things to me. How dare he fill me with that kind of false hope—and his fucking come? I need to purge the memory out of my brain, so cue the bender that I’m going to make Elijah finance as an apology forpushing me down the bleachers.
A petite, box-dyed black head of hair walks past the library, and I crutch faster to catch up.Fucking hell, this is an arm workout.
“Charlie,” I whisper-yell when I catch her sneaking by.
“Huh?” She whips around. There’s a dazed fog in her bloodshot eyes and a lock of drenched hair in her mouth.
Looks like I’m late to the party. Charlie’s half-cast eyes stare somewhere in my general direction as she mindlessly chews on her hair, waiting patiently for me to reach her.
“How’s the leg?” she throws over her shoulder.
A good friend would stay put, maybe walk at half speed, or suggest we sit down so I can catch my breath afterspending the past hour searching campus for the little fucker, Elijah. But Charlie simply resumes walking at the same speed as before, like a woman on a mission.
“Great,” I grind out. “Have you seen Elijah?” No point beating around the bush. Whenever she’s in this kind of state, she finds a place to zonk out or someone to fuck her.
She shakes her head, quickly pulling her hair out of her mouth and behind her ear like she just realized she’s doing it. “No one’s seen him all day.”
“How convenient.” If he’s hiding, I’ll sniff him out. “Let me guess, a concussion or something?” Maybe solitary as well?
She shrugs as she rounds the corner and heads down the hallway leading to the dorm rooms. We’ve already had dinner, so it’s only a couple hours until we’re forced to be holed away in our rooms.
“Apparently, he’s in the hospital.”
My eyes widen. “For a concussion?” I’m trying really hard not to breathe heavily right now, but could this girl walk any faster?
“No.”
I stare at her profile, waiting for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Jesus Christ, woman. “Then for what?”
She sneers, waving her hand like it isn’t important. “Something about broken bones and shit. I think there was mention of a coma or surgery or something.”
My brow line flattens. “Elijah was standing upright when I left him. For the love of God, Charlie, what the hell do you mean he’s in a coma?”
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. I get it. I’d be mad too, if someone was killing my buzz. “Aaron said they found him by the cemetery, passed out, beaten up, and badly burned. That’s all I know. Happy?”
Weird, but also this is extremely inconvenient. Serves him right for being a jackass, I guess. It also explains why he wasn’t in class today.
No wonder McGill was grilling me about my relationship with Elijah this morning. He asked me to explain what happened at the gym five times in ten different ways.
“Where’s Aaron now?” Follow-up questions: is he carrying anything, and is he willing to share?
“Church.”
I groan, loud and obnoxious. That’s quite literally the one place I don’t want to look because it’s so damn far. Crutches and mud sound like a disaster to me.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
