Ruin

by Clarissa Wild

  “Well, you’ve got me to serve you. Doesn’t that count?” A mischievous grin forms on his lips.

  “Alex …” I groan again, wanting to slap him with the pillow once more. “I meant that it’s just hard to come to terms with the fact that this is going to be a long-term disability.” I blow out a long, drawn-out breath. “I may never be the same person again.”

  He grabs my shoulder and forces me to look at him. “Hey. You are always going to be the same person. An injury does not define who you are. This”—he points at my leg—“does not define you. There’s so much more to your life than just your leg. You know that.”

  I frown. “What about dancing?”

  “Screw dancing for now. Maybe, you’ll do it again one day. Maybe, you won’t be as good, but you’ll do it. But you can do more. Look at your writing. Look at your love for games. Look at your creativity. You’ve got more to offer than just that damn leg.”

  “Hmmm … I hope so.”

  He looks at me from underneath his thick lashes. “I know so. I’ve seen it. I see you … for who you are.”

  I smile at his sweet words. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He clears his throat.

  “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” I quip.

  “No. Just with you,” he replies, sticking out his tongue and making me roll my eyes. “How’s the pain? Is it manageable?”

  “Sort of. I’m only on diclofenac and Tylenol now. I’m not allowed to take any more than that regarding painkillers. But I have to stop using the diclofenac soon, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “And how does it feel with the metal inside? Does it feel odd?” he asks. “Just curious.”

  “It feels like it weighs a ton and I could clobber people with it.”

  My comment makes him muffle a laugh. “You make it sound ridiculous.”

  “That’s because it is ridiculous. Metal’s supposed to be strong, but my leg is weak like rubber. Case in point, I’m not even able to swipe away a cloth with my foot.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Well, look …” I grab one of the towels beside me and place it on the floor. Then I let my leg slide down and place my foot on top. “I’m supposed to do this every day according to the doctor, to get some muscle control back.” I slide my foot forward, and the cloth barely moves. “See? It’s ridiculous.”

  “Nah, it’s fine. You’ll be able to do it in no time. I’m sure.”

  “I can’t straighten my leg, either. I don’t think it’s going to be like how my leg was before the accident,” I say, rubbing my leg.

  He swallows. “Well … maybe it’ll be better further ahead. For now, you’re still recovering, and it’s going great.” He clears his throat. “So when are you going to start with the physiotherapy again?” he asks, probably trying to change the subject.

  “Someone’s coming to visit this week,” I answer. “Probably to do some light exercises and movement like bending and stretching my leg. Can’t do much anyway until I’m allowed to put weight on it again. But … at least I have lots of extra time that I can spend with you now.” I put up the sweetest smile I can muster, and it makes him chuckle.

  “And I will be here as often as you want me to be,” he assures me, grabbing my hand.

  I pout my lips. “Every day?”

  “If you want me to, I’ll be here every day.” He squeezes my hand.

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I shake my head, letting out a breath. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Nothing. You don’t have to do anything for love.”

  “Love …” I look at him, wondering what he means. “Is that what this is?”

  His lips part, but he doesn’t say a word. For a few seconds, all he does is stare at me with these chocolate eyes that make me want to melt into a puddle.

  Then he pulls my hand close … to his lips … and presses a soft kiss on the top of my palm. The gesture says more than any words could.

  “And there’s more where that came from.” He winks. “Now … let’s go play some games, shall we?”

  No Place for Shame

  Alexander

  Every day, I drop by to watch over her and help her, and today is no different.

  However, the more I’m around her, the harder it becomes to leave.

  She makes me feel alive. Gives me a purpose where I had none.

  Because of her, I feel like I can take on the world again.

  I don’t know why I keep staring at her, but I do. I stare at her concentrated face as she smears her bread with a bit of butter, making sure it’s spread equally across the entire surface. Then she places two slices of ham on top in a specific place, the same way she always does it.

  She has these peculiar quirks that make her do things a certain way, always.

  To her, there is no if, no but; it must be done that way.

  That’s what fascinates me so much. Every little detail must be perfect to her, even though they might not make much sense to someone else. Like the way she meticulously aligns all the forks and knives in the drawer, or how she always has to put her brush straight on her nightstand. Or how she always knows exactly where her wallet or Gameboy is because she has specific spots for all her belongings, even though it doesn’t make any sense to me. Or how she puts on her socks—always pulling them up as far as she can and then pulling back the tips of her toes again so the seam doesn’t touch her feet.

  It makes me laugh a little, watching her fiddle.

  Watching her be her.

  It’s cute.

  Other people would say it’s a hassle, but I like this about her.

  She never fails to surprise me and make me curious.

  Except … that’s exactly the problem with me. I shouldn’t be curious; I shouldn’t get so attached.

  Sooner or later, this will all come to an end.

  I should’ve stopped visiting. The moment she left the hospital, I told myself I wouldn’t come to her place. That I’d leave her in peace. She needs the rest. What she doesn’t need is a boy messing with her heart.

  But I can’t help myself, either.

  The longer I stay, the harder it becomes to resist that voice in my head that begs for her to become mine.

  After she finishes eating her breakfast, I clean up her plate and help her back to the couch. But she keeps looking at me with these deviant eyes, beckoning me with her fingers.

  “Come here,” she says.

  “Why? If you need something, I can grab it. You just have to ask.”

  “No …” She grins. “I want you.”

  My spine tingles with excitement at the sound of those words.

  I go over to her and bend over in front of her. “You want me how?”

  She leans in and pouts her lips, her eyes half-mast and seductive. When I feel her breath on my skin, my eyes fall closed. One kiss—that’s all it takes to get me hard again. Damn.

  She smiles as her lips separate from mine again, and she bites her lip. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.”

  “I have the same problem,” I muse, trying to mentally will my dick down, but it’s not working.

  “I did actually want to ask you something …”

  “Don’t tell me that kiss was a way to get me to be your slave.” I raise a brow. “Because I already am.”

  She laughs, and a tiny snort follows, and I love the sound. “No, silly. I like you. But …” She takes a deep breath. “Will you help me shower?”

  My eyes widen. I don’t really know how to respond. “Shower? As in naked?”

  “Yeah … do you shower with clothes on?” she jokes.

  “No, but then …”

  “I can cover myself up,” she adds. “With a towel.”

  “But … wait, is this the first time you can shower since …?”

  “Oh, well …” She blushes. “I’ve been washing with just a w
et cloth, which does the job, but it just doesn’t feel nice, you know?”

  “Right … I get it.” I nod, trying to let it sink in that I’m going to see her naked for the first time.

  Oh, boy.

  How am I going to stop this fucking hard-on from raging right in front of her? I’m going to lose that battle, for sure.

  “If you don’t want to, that’s fine too … but … I don’t know who else to ask.” She looks down at the floor.

  “No, no, I’d love to help,” I say. It’s not her fault. I’m the problem here, and I should get over it. I grab her crutches and give them to her. “Let’s go then.”

  She nods and then gets up, walking with me to the bathroom. There’s a plastic chair already placed near the shower, probably put there by her dad. I scoot it closer and help her sit down.

  Her fingers curl underneath her shirt, and she pulls it over her head. I try not to look, but her pink bra is too sexy, and I find myself sneaking glances.

  I shouldn’t be thinking of her this way. It’s wrong, and right now, she needs my help.

  So I clear my throat and then grab one of the towels from the cabinet and hold it out to her.

  She smiles as she holds it over her chest and then unhooks the straps of her bra, giving her bra to me. “Can you put it in the laundry bin, please?”

  “Sure.” I try not to make a big deal out of it … even though I’m holding her bra. Jesus Christ.

  I quickly throw it in the laundry and then help her take off the big pink, woolen socks she’s wearing. It’s the only type that currently fits around her swollen foot.

  “Be careful,” she says as I lift up the foot attached to the painful leg.

  “You gotta take off your pants,” I say.

  She holds out her hand. “Hold my hand, I need support.”

  I grab her hand, and she lifts up her butt to pull down her pajama pants along with her panties. I turn my head away, as I don’t want to invade her privacy. But I guess it’s already too late for that, considering I’m helping her undress.

  Once she’s seated again, I grab another towel so she can cover her lower part as well. Then I turn on the shower and keep it away from her until it’s warm. She smiles gently at me, her cheeks rosy from embarrassment, and I can’t help but feel the same.

  But I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable around me, so I say, “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah … just a little strange, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think it’s strange at all. You need help, and that’s what I’m here for.”

  “I know, but I never imagined getting undressed like this for the first time in front of my boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend.

  Did she just say that out loud?

  Her eyes widen, and she snaps her lips shut while I look away, pretending not to have heard. I know she’d prefer it that way. It’s just a slipup. At least, that’s what I tell myself … because if it was the truth, I might faint.

  I grab a small cloth from the cabinet and soak it in the water. Then I hand her all her gels and shampoos. “I don’t know which one you want,” I say, laughing it off.

  She picks her favorite. I can’t help but feel like I should’ve known this.

  “It’s okay, I can use these two.” She hands me back the rest. “Could you do my feet? I can’t get underneath them.”

  “Of course.” I take the gel from her hand and squirt some onto the cloth, lathering it nicely. I go to my knees and look up at her, asking for permission with just my eyes. She doesn’t say no as I gently grab her foot and start rubbing it in with the soap. I continue up to her leg until just below the towel, and then repeat the process for her other leg too.

  It’s kind of peaceful … helping someone … helping her.

  Sitting here with her all alone feels very intimate and relaxing.

  Maybe it’s the way she’s gazing at me, full of wishes and hope that I can fix what’s been lost. No voices, no words. Nothing is needed when we look at each other. There’s only unconditional love and utter devotion, and I can see the gratitude in her eyes.

  If my presence alone could fix her, then everything would be okay. But it can’t.

  We continue with the soaping until she’s all lathered up, and then I douse her feet and legs with water, careful to keep her wound dry. It still has the stitches in it, and when I look at it, it makes me cringe. It must hurt a lot.

  “Thank you,” she says, looking down at me. “For doing this for me.”

  I smile, feeling like she’s trying to make me less uncomfortable, even though she doesn’t have to.

  I just wish I could take away all her pain.

  After she washes her hair and uses the showerhead to clean herself, I hand her another towel so she can dry herself off. She needs help with her legs and feet, as well as her back. I try not to look, but it’s hard to rub properly when you don’t know where your hand is going, so I have to sneak a glance sometimes.

  Every damn time I look at her, my body stiffens, and so does something else.

  I’m glad when we’re finished, even though I still have to help her put her panties on. Luckily, she can do the top bit on her own. Then I hand her some soft pajamas, slide her socks on again, and guide her out of the bathroom.

  I sit her down on the couch and go to the kitchen to make some tea for her, which is when she turns on the television. I listen to the broadcast as I pour the water into the pot and set down a cup with a strawberry teabag—her favorite flavor.

  When the water boils, I pick up the pot and pour it into the cup.

  “Hey, Alex …” she suddenly speaks up. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

  I blush. “Oh, I …”

  I put down the pot and stare at the swirling water.

  My stomach is in knots … but not because of what she asked.

  It’s because she’s watching the news from weeks ago, probably trying to catch up on what she missed, and it’s talking about a crash.

  I turn my head to face her, but she’s point-blank staring at the screen, her lips parting more and more. I know what she’s looking at. I’ve already seen it over and over again, but this is the first time she’s seeing it.

  Her car crash.

  Her body being pulled out of that car by me.

  My face appearing on the screen.

  I watch her face turn from shock to horror as she finds out it was me all along.

  Her stalker. Her volunteer. Her savior.

  It’s all a lie.

  I quickly pick up the cup of hot tea and place it near her on the table then turn around and walk out the door. “I have to go.”

  “Wait,” she says, but it’s too late.

  She can’t unsee what she just saw … and I can’t either.

  Something Undeniable

  Maybell

  I can’t stop staring at the door through which he just ran.

  I can’t believe it.

  Alex isn’t just the guy from school.

  He isn’t just a volunteer at the hospital who helped me get back on my feet.

  He isn’t only the guy I played games with without knowing it was him.

  He’s also the guy who rescued me.

  The one who pulled me from the wreckage and got me safe and sound into an ambulance.

  I look at the TV screen again and witness him pulling off a heroic act. Chills run down my spine as I watch him cover my body with his shirt, both our faces stained with soot from the fire. He pulled me from the car. My body. That’s me. And him.

  He was there from the beginning.

  And now, I can only wonder why he never told me.

  Was he scared of how I would react?

  I don’t understand. I’m not mad, but maybe he thinks I am.

  After all, he didn’t tell me.

  But then again … this explains everything.

  Why he was at my door. Why he gave me the Snickers. Why
he was so interested in me and came to my room the most, even though he was supposed to do rounds. He seemed so infatuated with me … and now, I realize why.

  He already knew me before I knew him.

  And it only makes me love him more.

  I just don’t understand why he couldn’t tell me who he was all along. Was he afraid I’d call him a stalker? Maybe … he has been acting like one. I laugh to myself because it’s a stupid joke. Too bad he isn’t here.

  But maybe I can get him to come back.

  I don’t want him to leave. I only respect him even more now that I know what he did. He saved me. I feel nothing but love for him.

  So I grab my phone and text him.

  Please come back.

  I wait, tapping my foot on the floor, but there’s no response. I could go look out the window, but I doubt he’s still there. And by the time I’m up from the couch and near the window, he’ll be long gone.

  I pull out my phone again and press the call button. It beeps over and over again, but he never picks up. A dark, unsettling feeling nestles in my stomach. I wonder if he’ll ever text me back. If he’ll ever answer the call. If I’ll ever see him again.

  Did I ruin it?

  By turning on the television and watching the news, did I unknowingly push him away?

  If only I could’ve told him what I thought before he left. If only he told me the truth so I could’ve explained how I felt.

  If only.

  There are so many of those.

  I get up with my crutches and make my way to the kitchen where I make myself a quick sandwich, making sure to spread the jelly and peanut butter equally on all sides. I have to eat something because I’m feeling hungry, and I’m not cooking for a long while. Not until I can at least stand a little.

  I was going to ask Alex if he wanted to order takeout, but now that he’s no longer here, it feels strange to order for just one person.

  I sigh and eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in silence, listening to the news broadcast as I take small bites. But my mind is still stuck with Alex and what just happened.