Page 13 of Derek
The implication isn’t lost on me, and I feel dread and anxiety creep up my body.
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” I groan as we start our way down the hall.
“Say what?” Fox says innocently.
“Goddamn it, I don’t want some girl living in my house! I like being alone.”
“Derek, your house has no steps and a spare room you don’t use with a walk-in shower.”
“I am aware of the amenities in my house. I enjoy the fact that they are in the same condition they were in when I remodeled them. I ain’t even got furniture! Where is she gonna sleep or sit?” I’m not losing my house. I refuse to lose my home.
“The guys and I will get some furniture,” Fox offers, and I envision myself punching him in the throat.
“Derek, we are a family–”
“Oh no!” I laugh and shake my head. “You almost had me for a minute, but that there just cost you the deal. Y’all ain’t my family. I work with you.” I smirk inwardly, feeling triumphant as I walk away, only to have Fox call to my back.
“You’re really going to be this fucking cold? To Indy?” I halt my steps and spin to glare at him.
“Indy ain’t special. I would treat anyone else the same fucking way. In fact, I’ll tell you the exact same thing I told my siblings about our sick father being on his deathbed. You need help paying for something to assist her? Fine, I’ll pitch in. That’s all you’ll get out of me, though. And this shit,” I point over his shoulder towards the hotel room. “Ain’t never happening again. I am a tattoo artist, nothing else. Now get in the vehicle.”
“Fuck you,” Fox flips me off, and I throw my hands in the air.
“Fine, fucking walk back. I’m out of here.”
Chapter6
Indy
Icontinue to hum as I work on picking the coins up off my bedside table with my right hand. My hand has been weak the last couple of days and I need to try and turn it around. MS is funny. Sometimes the flare-ups go away, and sometimes it’s the new norm. Losing mobility in my hands has always been a huge fear, and every time the tingling or weakness settles in, I fear it might be the final time.
But not this time. I’m still able to get the dime into the cup. I smile triumphantly at the sound of the dime hitting the others before looking around my quiet room. I’ve had no visitors. Fox and Derek never came to bring me my stuff, so I have no cell phone and am in a room where the television doesn’t work.
It’s been two days, but it feels like two weeks. Ash did call my hospital room to yell at me yesterday. Assisted living was brought up, and I allowed him to say his peace and express his fears and concerns before reminding him that I would not take a spot in an assisted living facility when I didn’t one hundred percent need it. While I agree that I may need some help, and at the very least, will leave my smartwatch on while showering so it can detect if I fall, I do not need assisted living.
There is nothing wrong with needing that level of help, and if I felt my only option was a facility, I would go, but I’m not there. At least not yet. I know that I need to feel sorry for myself right now, and while I allow this, it’s also hard to close the door back up and say you’ve cried enough. I often worry that this time will be the time I can’t close it again.
I stare at my cup of dimes and go to pick it up to move it to the cart by the head of my bed. I reach out and grab it, but my hand doesn’t close all the way, and the cup falls to the ground, dimes flying everywhere, and the door I tried to keep locked in my mind flies open. Tears roll down my face as I lay back on my pillow and let out the silent screams. I hear the increase in my heart rate on the monitor, and I know it won’t be long before the nurses will come in here to check on me.
I hate this, I hate this disease. I hate that I spend more time lately in hospitals than anywhere else. I hate that I’m constantly in pain. I can’t date or have a relationship without feeling like a burden. I hate that I knocked those dimes over, and now some poor, tired nurse has to find them because I can’t do it myself. And I hate that I wish someone were here to hold my hand because, despite the positive attitude and the smiles, I am so scared. And despite not wanting to be a burden, I don’t want to be alone.
* * *
There isa light knock on the door, and I see my nurse, Kathleen, walk in. Kathleen is a sweet woman with kind brown eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and an aura that makes you want to hug her.
“Good evening Miss Indy,” she smiles as she walks over to the chart on the wall and starts writing down a few things. It must be a shift change. My crying session lasted longer than I had intended, and as I predicted, the staff came in and helped calm me down. Nice way of saying they knocked me out with some painkillers.
She turns and smiles at me. “So, I’m going to go through the general questions, check your vitals, and then your friend can come in.”
“Friend?” I perk up; it must be Janie. Stevie was feeling so bad the last time I saw her she could barely drive.
“Oh yeah, and he is good-looking as hell.” She pats my arm, and I laugh lightly. I know it’s not Ash. He’s still in Alabama and wouldn’t be patiently waiting out there for her to do her checks. It must be Atlas or Fox. Hopefully, they brought my stuff so I have something to do.
Kathleen finishes my notes before walking out of the room and motioning for a figure to come in… a figure that is most certainly not Atlas or Fox.
“Derek?” I breathe out in shock. Derek closes the door behind him and looks around the room nervously. He looks tired and unkempt. His clothes are rumpled, his beard isn’t manicured like usual, and the bags under his fox-brown eyes are very prominent.
“Hey Indy,” He says as he steps forward, and it’s then I see it—my bag.
