From Yesterday

by Miriam Epstein

  Instead I clasp my hands behind my back and allow myself to be tied up by bits of plastic that dig into my wrists.

  "Now, be a very quiet little girl and I won't have to knock you out like I did Nicole. Make a sound, Princess, and I promise it will be your last."

  He steps back and closes the door.

  No.

  There isn't a sliver of light, not even from under the door. The closet, already tiny, gets increasingly smaller as my breathing starts to pick up speed until I am gasping for air. My chest gets tight and it feels like my heart is going to explode. I open my mouth to scream, but before I can get the sound out of my throat and seal my fate, logic comes back to me. I can't make noise; I don't know Turner well enough to know if he will follow through on his threat, but I'm not stupid enough to test him. Clearly, he isn't a very stable person. And if I die now, what will happen to my sister? Surely, if Turner were to kill me, he would not leave a witness around to nail him.

  I watch every version of Law and Order and this is the best I can come up with? I need to figure out how to get us out of here.

  By the sounds coming from outside the closet door, I better figure it out fast.

  The pain in my arm jolts me awake. The first thing I see is the blond guy from the circulation desk standing over me and holding up two fingers in front of my face.

  "Can you see this? How many fingers am I holding up?"

  Gingerly, I try to raise myself to a sitting position, but can't. I settle for smacking the guy's hand out of my face. "I can see just fine."

  Blond Guy places his hand on my shoulder with the good arm and gently applies pressure. "I don't think you should try to get up yet. You fell really hard; I heard the thud all the way downstairs. Why don't you lie there for a moment while I get something soft for your head? I'll call an ambulance, too."

  I sit up so fast my head spins and I reach out to grab him. "No! No ambulance! Please?"

  He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Whoa, Spaz, calm down. Okay, no ambulance. Let me see your arm."

  I twist to the side and lean back against the foot of the staircase. Blond guy gingerly lifts my arm and we both glance at it. You know how you don't feel the full extent of your injuries until you look directly at them? It is all I can do to keep from passing out again. Even this guy starts looking a little pale when he sees the torn flesh that runs almost the entire length of my forearm; jagged, angry, inflamed. It definitely needs stitches.

  "That's gross. You need to have that looked at, Paige. And not just by a lowly pre-med student like me. A real doctor who can clean that out and stitch it up."

  A warning bulb lights up in my head. "How did you know my name was Paige?"

  He gives me a disgusted look. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe because we had three classes together Freshman year? We sat next to each other in Bio 2, second semester, remember?"

  My arm hurts so badly I can't even pretend to know what his name is. I can sort of recall seeing him in a class or two, but I never really look people in the eye. I just look at him now, and give him a half grimace.

  Sympathy washes away the hurt look he had a moment ago. "It's okay. My name is Alex. I shouldn't have expected you to know that. It's not like we ever introduced ourselves. I just paid more attention to you because you're so quiet. I don't think I heard you speak once, actually. Also, you're pretty."

  Alex blushes and looks away. I am in too much pain to process this right now. "I, uh, I really need a towel or something."

  He jumps up. "Oh! Sorry. The first aid kit. I'll be back in a second. Don't go anywhere."

  I give him a pointed look and he goes down the stairs.

  I close my eyes and count to one hundred before Alex gets back. When he does return, he is running up the stairs so quickly that he nearly slips and ends up with the same fate as me, but he rights himself at the last second. Good, because two down and no one to go equals not so great odds for us both. I'm sitting here seriously contemplating the ambulance now that I realize I can barely move, let alone stand and walk to the car and drive home.

  "Did you slide through this oil, too? Is that how you fell, or was it from carrying those heavy books?"

  Alex sets the first aid kit down next to me as he finishes asking inane questions.

  "Oil? What? I wasn't carrying those books. They fell just before I left. That's why I was leaving."

  "No, look, Paige. Your shoes."

  I glance in the direction of my feet without moving too much. He's right. There are what look like oil stains on the side of my right sneaker and traveling up a bit on to the gray sweatpants. Now I notice the puddle that sits less than two feet away from me; part of it has been tracked through by both me and Alex.

  "That's odd."

  Alex gives me an incredulous look. "Odd? That's all you have to say about it? And the books, Paige? How did you expect to manage all of that, plus your school bag? Reference books can't be checked out, you know?"

  "Uh, thanks. I'm aware of that. I just told you the books are what freaked me out. I didn't drop them. Whomever else was up here must have."

  Alex begins to gently wrap some gauze around my arm. It stings, but I try not to complain.

  "There was no one up here besides you, Paige. I've been at the circulation desk since before you got here. I came up here once to get a Physiology textbook, and you were still the only person here. I haven't left the desk since then."

  I'm starting to feel annoyed. "Well, Alex, maybe it was a ghost."

  I say it ironically, but the truth is that I'm not so certain that I'm wrong, which is ridiculous.

  Alex gently secures the bandage with a small piece of medical tape and stands back up. "All kidding aside, Paige, there was no oil on the floor earlier and those big ass books didn't get up and drop themselves on the floor. Plus, that arm. It has to get looked at right now. I can't try to clean it properly without a local anasthetic. The pain would be off the charts. I'm not allowed to leave, so you'll either go to the hospital in an ambulance or you can call someone to take you. Your choice."

  He folds his arms over his chest and I know he's not going to budge.

  Too weak to argue, I acquiesce. "Fine. Can you get my cell out of the side pocket in my bag, please? I'll call someone."

  There is only one person for me to call.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Fuck, Paige! What the hell happened?"

  Brady must have been on campus, nearby, because less than five minutes later he is assessing the situation with Alex.

  "It's not as bad as it looks," I lie to him.

  He shakes his head while Alex feels the need to chime in. "Yes, it is. Brady, right? She needs to go to an ER or urgent care immediately. That's a very nasty, very deep cut that needs antibiotics and stitches. And she will also need a tetanus shot if she isn't up to date."

  Brady and Alex have a two minute whispered conversation while I lay there and imagine what kinds of conspiracy theories Alex is telling him. I wish they would stop, I don't need more people thinking that I'm crazy.

  Brady shakes Alex's hand. "Thanks for helping, man. I've got it from here."

  "No problem. You take care of yourself, Paige."

  Alex watches as Brady bends down and uses brute strength to scoop me up from the floor and into his arms like a new bride on her honeymoon. Lovely as his arms might be, there is no chance in hell I'm going anywhere like this. Plus, I didn't like the little exchange that just happened between the two boys. I feel like a piece of property now.

  I smack Brady's arm with my good one. "No way, Tarzan. I'll walk."

  He lets me down, but won't let go of my uninjured arm as we make our way down the steps. My bag sways on his shoulder and one of the straps comes around to tap me right over the area that hurts. I yelp.

  "Damn, I'm sorry."

  He shifts the bag to this other side and we make it to my car with relative ease.

  "I'll drive your car, Paige. I came here on the bike and you're not going to the ER
on that."

  For once, we are in complete agreement. "The keys are in that side compartment, next to my phone."

  He digs around for a second until he pulls them out and unlocks the passenger door for me. Once he has me settled in with my seatbelt in place, he makes his way around to the driver's side. I have to be a little bit impressed when Brady is able to adjust the seat without fumbling around for the controls like most people. My car has buttons in very illogical places and it can take some getting used to. I can tell he's a bit shocked that my car does not have an automatic transmission; I've found that most Americans, both genders, don't know how to drive stick these days. It's weird to me, but I guess that's because my parents were not raised here. I'm used to the fact that there are many countries in which stick shift is the norm and automatic is a very rare luxury.

  The ride to the hospital is relatively quick; it is literally five minutes down from campus on Biscayne Boulevard, but traffic makes it take closer to ten. We don't speak during this time. I am not exactly in the position to be having a meaningful conversation right now, and to my relief it seems as though Brady is as perceptive as he is pushy. The silence is a companionable one; we are both content to simply be in one another's presence. It's nice.

  Aventura Hospital is over ten stories high and all chrome and glass, having been updated just a few years ago. This is one of the nicer areas in South Florida. The city is small, but packed with high rises and expensive cars. The traffic backs all the way up to the area I live in, which is only one city away, really. Brady parks my car in the garage, which looks fairly empty. I hope this translates to not having to wait nine hours in the ER since I'm not an urgent case.

  We walk inside and the triage nurse assesses me quickly. We are told to have a seat, but that it shouldn't be long before I am called in. There are the usual uncomfortable plastic chairs for us to sit in.

  " You know, you don't have to wait," I tell Brady. "You're welcome to take my car home and I can just take a cab home when I'm done."

  Brady rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, sure, Paige. I'll just leave you here. In the emergency room. By yourself."

  "It's not a big deal, Brady. I'm perfectly fine. This could take hours and I'd hate for you to give up your Saturday night to hang out with me in the hospital."

  He puts his hand on my knee. "Paige, I'm not giving anything up. I was even going to see what your plans were for the evening. So, whether we are here the rest of the night, or somewhere else, I'll be just fine. Now, tell me about what happened in the library."

  Before I can figure out a way not to tell him very much, my name is called by the nurse. "I guess I'll have to tell you when I come back out."

  Brady stands up. "Oh, I'm coming in with you. We can talk about it later if you want, but we will talk about it."

  "Later sounds good."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Three hours, two doctors, some shots, and fourteen stitches later and I am finally home. Brady is hovering over me as I chill out on the couch. I like it.

  "Okay, so The Hunger Games or Bridesmaids?"

  I laugh. "Do you really want to watch a chick flick? You don't seem like the type. The Hunger Games is good."

  Brady frowns at me. "I'll have you know that I have watched plenty of chick flicks. Especially if I was trying to get laid."

  I toss a throw pillow at him. "Nice. Well, just so you know, that is not happening. So don't get your hopes up."

  "Relax, Paige. I was teasing. Mostly. Why don't we just watch both? It's only 9 o' clock. The sushi won't be here for at least a half hour so we can start a movie, or you can tell me how you really hurt yourself today."

  I hold out my hand and wait for Brady to grab it. When he does, I squeeze his hand and look at him. "Brady, I'm still not feeling great and I'd be lying if I said that I'm not still a little freaked out over the whole thing. All I really want to do is spend a few hours with my friend, watching movies and forgetting about today. I promise I will tell you, I just want to try and salvage what is left of this evening, okay?"

  He nods and continues to hold my gaze. "Just as long as I'm this friend you are talking about."

  He winks.

  I drop his hand. "Take a look around, Brady. Do you see anyone else here? Let's watch The Hunger Games first. I have a girl crush on Jennifer Lawrence, just like half of the rest of the female population."

  You can almost see the cartoon light bulb flash above his head. He raises one eyebrow, a trick that is not easy. "Oh, really? That has numerous possibilities, Paige. I like it"

  "Sure you do, perv. What possibilities would those be, exactly? I'm never going to meet her and even if I did, we are both straight. And who's to say I'm her type?"

  He seems undeterred. "Still, it's hot to imagine..."

  I don't let him finish his thought because I beam him with another throw pillow. I'm going to run out of pillows soon. I suppose we could make popcorn. Plenty of that to throw.

  Brady puts the movie in the blu-ray player and then settles on the couch next to me. He hits play on the remote, and then moves himself closer and examines my arm. He turns it to the side to get a better look.

  "The bandage needs to be changed soon, Paige. There's still some bleeding. Do you want to take some of the meds they gave you?"

  "No, not really. It's just naproxen 500 so it won't help that much. I'd rather tough it out. I can change the bandage later."

  Brady takes hold of my wrist. "Let me change the bandage now so that you don't worry about staining your couch. I promise to be gentle. And I really think you should take one of the pills, they will help with the inflammation."

  I shrug. "Fine, but pause the movie first, please? I don't want to miss the scene when Katniss volunteers for her sister."

  Brady grins. He pauses the disc, even though we are still on previews, and goes to get the bag of bandages they gave me at the hospital. It is going to be really interesting trying to shower later. I hurt my right arm and I am right handed. The doctor told me not to get it wet for a few days which means a plastic covering and awkward movements while trying to wash my hair.

  Brady comes back with supplies; there is gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape in the cellophane bag with care instructions on the side. He reads that for a minute, then sets everything down on the coffee table and sits back down next to me.

  "Okay, give me your arm."

  I lift it, realizing that the anesthetic is starting to wear off. Maybe the naproxen is a good idea after all. "I changed my mind. I do want to take one pill."

  He looks pleased. "Good. I'll do this quickly and then grab some water for you."

  I grab the bottle of pills and toss one into my mouth. I dry swallow a pill the size of a horse tranquilizer in no time. "No need."

  Brady's eyes are the size of saucers. "That was disturbing. And, uh, kind of hot all at the same time. Anyway, I'm just going to slowly pull this bandage off, clean the wound very gently, and re-bandage it, okay?"

  I hold my arm out. "Sure."

  With extreme care and gentleness, Brady pulls the bandage off of my arm bit by bit. The skin underneath is rust-colored from the iodine and it looks grotesque where the stitches have pulled the skin together like ruched fabric. Bits of dried blood have flaked off and they fall on to the towel that Brady thoughtfully placed on the couch before starting. He throws the ruined bandage into a plastic bag and picks up the antiseptic. "This is probably going to sting."

  I nod. "I'm sure."

  It takes less than thirty seconds for Brady to uncap the solution, spread it on some gauze, and press down gingerly on my arm. The pain is quick, like a short, intense burst of sensations that dissipate soon after. Reminds me of the first time I got my bikini line waxed. Before I know it, he has replaced the old bandage with a new one and it's over.

  "There. All set. How bad was it?"

  I hold his hand for the second time today. "Thank you. For everything."

  He doesn't need clarification. Brady knows there is m
uch more meaning in my words than simply thanking him for changing the dressing on my arm. I feel very lucky to have found a friend like him, regardless of whether or not I wanted one.

  "You may be thanking me now, but it'll be me who is giving thanks later."

  I watch the evil grin form on his face. "Oh? Why is that?"

  He winks. "Because you've injured your right arm and you are right-handed. So, I'll have to change that dressing for you for the next few days because it has to stay clean. And if you think you'll be able to shower without my help, you are so very wrong."

  An once again, I am rendered speechless. There is simply no good comeback for that. He is right.

  I grab the remote from the table and press play. Brady laughs quietly to himself. We watch until just after my favorite scene when the phone rings. It is the front desk, calling to have me authorize the delivery man inside the building. I tell him yes, and then I go to find my purse to get cash ready.

  "Don't worry about it, Paige. I've got it."

  "Like hell. You paid for dinner the other night, and you dragged my injured butt to the emergency room today. The least I can do is buy dinner."

  I locate my wallet and give a triumphant yell as I pull it from my bag just as the delivery man knocks on the door. Brady comes over to me, takes my wallet, and shoves it into his back pocket. "You're never going to pay when I'm around. Ever. Better start getting used to it now."

  I watch, open-mouthed, as he goes to the door, opens it, and pays the man. When he finishes, he takes the huge box of take-out into the living room and sets it down on the coffee table. We both work quietly, setting up a little picnic of sorts, while I ponder why I'm slightly turned on by having Brady order me around.

  "I am perfectly capable of paying for stuff, Brady."

  He gestures with his hands around the room. I take a minute to follow where his fingers go as he points to my rather expensive furnishings and the detail that went into the finishes in the condo. All modern furniture, mostly dark wood with clean lines. I have very few decorations, not being one for clutter, but the items I do have were not cheap. And sitting on the end table is a genuine Swarovski crystal vase.