Page 24 of Cruel Charming Psychos (Necessary Evils 2)

She stirs beneath me, letting out a pained groan as her eyes flash half-open. She searches the room frantically with her eyes and pushes herself tighter into my grip. She’s scared and now it’s clearer than ever that the man that grazed past me was fleeing the scene of the crime.

“It’s okay,” I assure her softly. “I got you.”

“Shit.” She groans as she forces herself up into a seated position. “There was a guy-”

“Don’t worry about him right now.” I find myself doing something foreign to me as I caress the side of her face. I catch myself desiring to press my lips against her forehead, a touch of tenderness that would betray what I think I know about our relationship. I swallow a lump in my throat and remove my hand from the side of her face. “I don’t know what you were doing here.”

“I told you,” she says, palming at the back of her head. “Asher had evidence against your father, and I wanted to make sure I got to it before he did.”

“If what you’re saying is true-”

“Look, I don’t care if you believe me.”

“Believing you isn’t the easiest thing in the world, Addison.”

“I was attacked. Don’t you think that’s proof enough?” She winces in pain as she climbs to her feet, clearly needing distance from me. She’s shaky on her feet. “Someone came here to steal those disks before someone else could find them. We need to get out of here.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to find a way to intercept those disks before they end up back in your father’s hands.”

She tries to walk past me, but I grab her by the arm. “There are more important thing to be worried about right now.”

“No.” She shakes her head defiantly. “There’s really not.”

“You need to get examined.”

“I’m fine,” she scoffs.

“Yeah, besides that melon on the back of your head, you might be fine.” I gesture towards her stomach pointedly. “But what about our baby.”

She pauses, unable to avert her gaze. “The baby is fine.”

“You can’t know that, not with any degree of certainty.”

She stumbles sideways, bracing one hand against the wall to steady herself. “I can’t go to the hospital right now.”

“I’m not giving you that choice.”

Her feet give out from under her as she collapses forward, into my arms and unconscious once more.

* * *

I don’t remember the last time I was in a hospital, not including the time I tracked Addison down the night Emily burned her house to the ground. Back then, I wanted to kill her. Now, I find myself praying silently that she’s okay. My feet tap nervously against the floor beneath me as I remain seated in the waiting room. The ticking of the clock echoes through one ear and out the other, stuck on an endless loop of uncertainty.

There are so many things I could be doing right now other than waiting. For instance, I could track down the man that did this to her and make him pay. The only problem is that I only have a vague memory of what the guy looks like. He was wearing jeans and a jacket, and he looked older with dark hair and grey stubble. That’s not exactly enough information to track a stranger down, though.

I find myself getting lost in the same thoughts, thinking about my father’s place in all of this. Addison remains adamant that he had a hand in the murder of Asher, which would also mean that he had a hand in the attack on her. I think about what it would mean if it were true. My father and I have next to no relationship at this point anyways.

Addison just needs to wake the fuck up and the baby needs to be fine, and then we will figure out the rest from there. It takes almost losing someone to realize how much they mean to you. This feeling inside of me, I can’t quite explain. It’s not love, but rather the precursor to it. Like… Somehow, I could love her someday.

God, that’s fucking sick. I cradle my head in my tired hands as I try to shake away the thoughts of falling in love with the girl that killed my brother. There’s a special place in hell for people like me. It’s like the more deranged something is, the more I’m drawn to it.

The echoing of footsteps slapping against the hard floors steals my attention. The doctor approaches from the side and greets me with a warm smile. She’s an older woman, wearing enough wrinkles to show her age like the candles on a birthday cake. She’s very familiar but I can’t place the face to a name, so I just assume she’s the same doctor that treated Addison’s mother earlier in the summer.

I rise to my feet, almost in slow motion as the nerves take over. “How is she?”

“She’s going to recover fine. She suffered a concussion, but she’s awake now. She’ll need to take it easy for the next few days.” She hands me a sheet of paper outlining the diagnosis, treatment, and symptoms to watch out for. “Keep an eye on her and if any of these symptoms manifest in the next few days, it’d be a good idea to bring her back in for further observation. Additionally, she should be seen by her primary care doctor in the next week. If you don’t mind me asking, you stated that she fell and hit her head?”

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