Page 33 of Pretty Thing

“Okay, fine then.”

The easy agreement throws me off. Felix shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it over the banister railing.

“Go ahead and try. You want to end up in the hospital again or worse with a live-in nurse because you can’t wipe your own ass, then please, be my guest,” he says, obviously annoyed.

“Fine, I will,” I grumble, stubbornness flaring in my chest that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me and my need to feel a semblance of normal.

I look at the staircase, all too aware of his eyes on me as I limp up each step. Arrogant asshole.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing alone in the bathroom, trying not to cry because he’s right. Again. And it is as infuriating as it is embarrassing.

My sweatshirt catches painfully against my arm cast as I try to pull it over my head one-handed. By the time I finally manage, my ribs are screaming, and I’m breathing hard enough to feel dizzy. I take the air cast off and promptly put too much weight on my bad ankle. It barks at me like an angry dog.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Bruises cover my skin in sick shades of yellow and purple. Seatbelt marks cross my collarbone and chest. My hair hangs dull and tangled around my face but does nothing to hide the million little cuts from the glass as if Edward Scissorhands has tried to give me a facial.

I barely recognize myself and force my eyes away from the girl I no longer know. Hanging onto the wall and then the toilet, I reach for the knobs on the shower. The stretch hurts, and so does the awkward lean over the tub. Why don’t we have a walk-in?

Finally, my fingers connect, and the shower turns on with a violent hiss of pipes. Steam slowly fills the room as I sit on the edge of the tub. I manage to get my sweatpants halfway down before my foot slips on the linoleum floor and juts out. The sharp stabbing sensation shoots up my leg, and I fall off, landing unceremoniously in a heap.

Everything hurts.

“Fuck—”

Then there’s pounding on the door.

“Eden?”

“I’m fine, Felix. Go away.”

Lie.

“Unlock the door.”

“No.”

“Eden.”

Humiliation crawls hot beneath my skin.

“Felix, just leave me alone.”

“Not a chance.” He is quiet, but I know he hasn’t left because I can see his shadow under the door. “You’re crying. I can hear you. Now open the door,” he says softer.

My breath catches.

Sure enough, my fingers are wet when I pull them away from my cheek. The doorknob rattles before he knocks again.

“Please unlock the door, Eden. I don’t want to kick it in, but I will.”

The worry in his voice breaks through the last piece of stubbornness left in me.