Page 52 of Impossible

Leon isn’t even angry—his hand is on Risk’s thigh, holding him back. His expression is worse than anger—he’s just disappointed. “Do you feel better, Hollis?” he asks me quietly.

I choke on whatever I was going to say next. The haze clears, leaving my head pulsing in the quiet, stale air.

I take a deep breath.

I turn around and walk out.

16

Intrepid

Indigo

IndietheInferior:aone-act play.

A study in humiliation, contrasts, and sexuality.

A complete and utter disaster.

Day one of classes.

I think I might throw up.

There could be several reasons for this, but I suspect a fairly specific combination of sleep deprivation, pain, and theincrediblyloud knocking on my door that has just roused me from the scant two hours of sleep I got after returning from the hospital.

“Hold on,” I groan.

“Indie, are you ok?” Cecilia practically shrieks from outside. God, if the hallway didn’t hate me before, they will now.

“I’m fine, gimme a sec,” I call back. I am fine, and also stranded.

Fun fact: anorexic arms are simply insufficient to carry anorexic body weight around on crutches. I learned this fact experientially last night—this morning—when I was finally discharged from the hospital, only to promptly fall on what would have been my face if Leon had not reacted quickly enough and caught me.

We were treated to another luxurious twenty-minute wait in the emergency ward as they scrounged together a wheelchair to loan me for the next two weeks until I’m cleared to walk again. I’m just glad it’s not a tear that would have required surgery and a full eight-week recovery.

Unfortunately, my dorm room is not handicap accessible. The wheelchair fits in the door, but it can’t go alongside the bed, so I have to find a way to get from bed to door without using my left leg at all.

This journey is not helped by the fledgling nest I have made for myself in the bed, creating an obstacle course of soft lumps.

“Indie?” Cecilia calls.

“Hold on,” I call back. “Logistics!”

Logistics indeed. I do an awkward dismount over the footboard, banging my good knee against the wood in the process and launching the career of a marvelously colored bruise. Small blessing: actually eating dinner last night seems to be fending off the headrush I’ve come to expect every time I go from horizontal to vertical. Funny how that works.

I hold onto the bed and lean over until I can lean against the door. Then I unlock it, using both my arms to haul it open before losing my balance, wheeling backwards and catching myself on the edge of the chair in a wild display of clumsiness. Another bruise for the collection.

“Oh shit,” Cecilia breathes when she sees me. She’s holding another tray of covered bowls. “Are you ok?”

“Apparently ok enough to not be allowed to sleep in, despite mytraumaticnight.”

Cecilia smiles, an adorable toothy grin that makes her look about three years younger. She kind of reminds me of Lise. It’s a sour thought. “People are saying you got attacked in the woods by a pack of feral alphas, and that Trainer Midas fought them off and saved you and then carried you back.”

“Oh my god.” I roll my eyes. “Not even close.”Way too close.

“You’redifferenttoday,” she cocks her head and looks at me.

“Am I?” I raise my brow. “Could it be the wheelchair? The veritable bouquet of bruises? The sleep deprivation?”

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