Page 39 of Burn

“Taylor, can you please grab something to clean up Ms. Donnelly’s hand?” His eyes meet mine as he continues, “I came in to tell you that we’re releasing you today — you get to go home. If you’d waited a little longer, we’d have removed that without pain and injury.” He reaches for my wrist, turning it over to get a better look. “Your wrist is going to match the top of your hand. It’ll be a nasty bruise.”

Home?

I stare at him, remembering that I don’t have a home to go to. The nurse returns and begins cleaning my wrist, wiping it clean of blood, sterilizing it, and applying a band-aid to the small hole left behind. Her eyes flick from my arm to my eyes, thatsmirk never faltering. At some point, I realize the doctor has been speaking, and I haven’t caught a single fucking word.

Where the hell am I supposed to go?

“No use reattaching the monitors at this point.” He still sounds so curt and annoyed. “Do you have any questions about your treatment plan?”

I shake my head. I have no idea what my treatment plan is, and I don’t have the emotional wherewithal to ask him to go over it again. He hands me a stack of papers, the top one labeled‘Lung Rehabilitation Exercises.’I flip through them and nod.

“We prefer to release you into the care of a friend or family member.” The doctor pauses and glances toward the door. “Is the polite guy going to be taking you home?”

Is he even still here?

Again, I nod silently. The doctor must grow tired of my poor communication skills because he rolls his eyes and says, “Okay. Great chat. Taylor will be back to discharge you.” He turns and charges out the door, muttering to himself and shaking his head.

Excellent bedside manner. Really, fantastic.

Taylor, the nurse, moves to the side of the bed and collects the wires and tubes haphazardly discarded on the floor. I grimace and say, “I’m sorry. He…” My words catch.

She faces me and smiles. Her strawberry-blond hair frames her face, and she lights up. Her voice is bright and friendly when she replies, “Oh god. Don’t apologize. Dr. Stewart is notoriously a grump. I’d also rather sit on your man’s lap than these awful beds.” She laughs as she drapes the wires over the machines and turns to scan the room. “Any idea where your clothes are? You must be dying to get out of that gown.”

Fucking clothes.

I search the room. With Dave and Lane gone, it’s empty of any other personal belongings. Sighing, I reply, “I’m not sure. I think I came in wearing pajamas…”

And God knows what happened to those.

Taylor nods and says, “Right. Those are probably long gone. I’ll go check the lost and found. Won’t be the sexiest outfit you’ve ever worn, but we do wash everything we find, so it’s clean.” I smile at her. She’s sweet and sort of reminds me of Rosie. She offers a devilish grin when she adds, “I’ll also find that gorgeous, broody as fuck man of yours, and send him back in.” She doesn’t wait for me to reply, instead collecting the garbage from cleaning my wrist and skipping out the door.

I could call Rosie, Kendall, or Lane. One of them would let me couch surf until my place is fixed, but I hate the idea of putting that burden on them. I desperately need to get back in touch with my insurance company. My policy covers accommodations.

I look back at the door. I’m not going to Rosie, Kendall, Olivia, or a hotel. I’m going to allow Adrian to do exactly what I know he’s desperate to do.

I’m going to let him rescue me.

Release

Adrian

When the door slams behind me, I don’t slow down. I move in long strides away from her room, turning when I reach the restroom. Once inside, I let my head fall back against the closed door, my mind swirling like a tornado. The momentary calm I felt with her arms wrapped around me is gone, and my heart thuds in my chest as if fists pound my ribs, desperate to escape.

I shouldn’t have touched her.

I lift my hands, and they shake erratically. I ball them into tight fists, then release, trying to steady them. It’s no use, and my head seesaws, guilt warring with my desire.

I nearly hit her.

I step up to the sink, turn on the cold water, and lean down to splash water on my face repeatedly. When I rise, I see Nash’s broken and beaten face, cockeyed jaw. Covered in so many maggots, glaring back at me. I shoot back with such force that my body slamming into the steel door sounds like thunder. I blink hard, my reflection greeting me when I reopen my eyes. I lean my hands onto the counter. The mirror is covered in a thin, cloudy film of streaks from the last time someone wiped it. My eyes are red and bloodshot. The circles under them are such a deep shade of purple that it looks like I have two black eyes.

Behind the tormented expression, I see a momentary glimpse of my father, and I grip the edge of the counter with such force that it groans under the pressure. I’d give anything to talk to him, to ask for advice, but even my dreams are a cruel joke, robbing me of even a moment of reprieve from the devastation of losing him too soon.

‘Breathe, Adrian. Focus on what you can feel.’

Her sweet voice echoes in my mind, and my heart stutters. Water drips down my nose and jaw, so I lift my arm, wiping my face dry with my sleeve, and her scent is everywhere. She’s all over my skin. It’s softer than usual, but it’s there, and I need it off. I pump soap into my hands, pushing my sleeves up to my elbows to scrub at my skin. When I rinse and bring my arms to my nose, she’s still there, so I repeat the action. Again, and again. It’s no use. It’s like she’s a part of me.

Goddamn it.

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