Page 44 of Meet Me at the Metro

I place the soles of my feet flat against the hardwood floors beneath me and take a deep breath before finally finding the courage to stand. I’m immediately regretting my decision as a sharp, brutal pain bursts through my ankle and up the length of my leg.

“Oh, god!” I cry out, tears filling my eyes as I fall back onto my bed.

This is not good.This is really not good.

A thorough search onGooglehas me convinced that I’ve got a sprained ankle on my hands, and by the looks of how inflamed my ankle and foot are right now, it’s so much worse than I was anticipating it to be. I definitely need to go see a doctor about this, despite how badly I don’t want to do that—doing so would mean proving Theo exactly right.

And damn him for being right about this.

Using every bit of furniture in my room as an anchor, I pathetically hobble to my bedroom door, gritting my teeth with every wrong movement I make. Sticking my head out into the hallway, I call out into the quiet of the apartment.

“Evie?”Silence.“Harvey?”Absolute silence.

I groan at the quiet, filled with dread when neither one of my roommates answers back, and I just pray to myself that they’ll come walking through the front door at any moment. My faith in that prayer quickly dissipates as a bright, green sticky note posted against my door catches my eye.

‘Harvey and I went out for brunch this morning. Didn’t want to wake you. Be back sometime this evening. Pedaylite’s in the fridge. So is tequila... Pick your poison.

Signed, a hot ass bitch.’

The messily written note is able to put a smile on my face for a short moment before I’m reminded of the pain in my ankle. Falling back against the frame of the door, I tear my eyes away from the swollen and bruised flesh and let out a defeated groan.

I’ve got to get this thing looked at.

With a hobble in my step, I carefully make my way back into my room and head to my nightstand. I pull my phone from its charger and type out a message to the only person I can think of to help me at this moment.

Hey... sorry to bug you, but could you help me get to a doctor?

The examination room inside the immediate care clinic is bleak. The white walls around me feel suffocating, but I force myself to sit still against the cold, squeaky hospital bed and hope that today’s visit will be a quick one. To my right is a small countertop housing a sink, soap, blue latex gloves, a box of sterile needles, band-aids, and cotton balls. Connor sits beside it, his anxious gaze darting across the room.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence between us as he gives me a slight smile and teases, “No more alcohol for you.”

I laugh, appreciating his effort to bring a little light to this predicament of mine. He opens his mouth to speak again just as a knock sounds against the door.

It opens the very next moment, and a round woman with a tightly pulled black ponytail comes striding into the room. A red stethoscope hangs around the collar of her white lab coat and lavender button-up shirt.

“Hi, Miss Mattice; how are you doing today?” She greets softly.

“Erm, I’m alright. I’ve had better days.”

“I would say so,” she jokes, wearing a sympathetic expression as her hazel eyes inspect my injury. She slips on a pair of latex gloves and sits down against the examination stool, rolling my way. “I’m Nurse Practitioner Sutton, and I’ll be taking care of you today. So the tech told me you hurt your foot pretty badly last night, huh?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “I had taken a fall and think I twisted my ankle when it happened. I was hoping it would maybe be better after a night’s rest, but when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t even stand to walk on it.”

“Yeah, you’ve got some pretty serious inflammation and bruising.” She carefully takes hold of my ankle for further inspection. With considerate gentleness, she attempts to turn the joint softly, but even the slight inch of movement has me flinching in pain.

“Sorry,”she quickly apologizes, softening her grip on me. “How would you rate your pain on a scale of one through ten?”

“Umm, maybe a six?” I confess, voice slightly trembling.

Because although the pain is completely intolerable to walk with, I can’t help but feel as though I might need to save my ten for another day.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” She asks as she maneuvers my toes to point toward the ground and then to the ceiling.

“Y-yes.”The muscles in my body quiver with overwhelming discomfort, and I bite onto my bottom lip to try and stifle it. “It hurts really bad.”

“Alright, so it’s very apparent to me that you have a stretched ligament somewhere,” she explains, mercifully releasing her hold on me. “But we’ll have to get an X-ray on it to rule out any possible fractures or anything.”

“O-okay,” I nod.

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