Repeat(7)
Though maybe I’m being too hard on her, given the breakup, et cetera. Three friends/acquaintances isn’t a bad amount. Enough that you could catch a movie sometime or grab a cup of coffee with someone if you wanted.
It’s not like the new me is rushing to bond with anyone.
Speaking of coffee, I’m waiting in line at the local café. A small, popular place with yellow walls and bright aluminum furniture. It’s about fifteen minutes’ walk from Frances’s place and I go there every morning. This way, the exercise box gets ticked while I receive my recommended daily dose of caffeine and exposure to people in the outside world. My sister would rather I wait until she’s home to go out. But I’m not big on having my hand held. I mean, it’s just not feasible. You can’t live your life that— The only warning I get is an odd taste in my mouth, then my left arm suddenly stiffens. Everything goes black.
*
I hear Ed before I see him. The heavy thud of his footsteps and raised voice demanding, “Where is she?”
“Sir, just—”
The curtain around my bed is thrown back and the man himself appears. Eyes wild and a sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks like he ran all the whole way here. Of course, sweaty and worked-up look good on him. The man has presence. Meanwhile, I probably look like hell.
“I didn’t know they called you,” I say.
“Your face . . . holy shit. What the hell happened?”
“I had a small seizure. It’s fine. They happen sometimes after a brain injury.”
“A seizure?”
“You’re good to go.” Doctor Patel calmly rises to his feet. Luckily, he was here visiting another patient. Even Nurse Mike stopped by to see me earlier. It’s just like old times. “See you at our next appointment, Clementine. Don’t forget.”
“Good one.” I attempt a smile. It’s kind of our inside joke, not that it’s particularly funny. But I’ve found I have a certain appreciation for gallows humor these days. Meanwhile, I feel like utter shit in all the ways.
Ed sits on the side of my hospital bed, staring down at me. Then he takes my chin in hand, gently turning it this way and that to inspect the damage. It’s weird, being touched by him. How he feels he has certain rights to my body. I can’t deny I’m pleased to see him, but this is not okay. Apart from a couple of awkward hugs from Frances, the only physical contact I’ve ever had is from disinterested medical staff going about their business.
“Ed.” I push his hand away, slowly sitting up. “Don’t.”
“Sorry. Can I help? Are you all right? Should you be moving?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Clem, half of your face is black and blue,” he says, disbelief heavy in his voice. “Not my definition of fine.”
“It could have been worse. At least I didn’t hit the damaged side when I blacked out and fell.”
“What, so you’re Jessica Jones now and nothing can touch you?”
I start to frown, then stop. It hurts. “I don’t know who that is.”
He hangs his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. Pretty sure it means I’m pissing him off. They shouldn’t have dragged him all the way over here. God knows what he was busy doing. He’s wearing jeans and sneakers, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back. A pair of black sunglasses sit on top of his head. Maybe he was at work. Maybe he was prepping for a lunch date. I don’t know if that would bother me or not. Not that I have any claim on him. But best not to think about it just the same.
At least I feel too crappy for any of the worrisome pants-tingling thing this time.
“Why didn’t they call Frances?” I ask.
“They did. She couldn’t leave work, so she called me,” he not so patiently explains. “Guess she didn’t have any other options. Plus, I was also probably closest. The doctor said you could go?”
“Yes. If you want to get out of the way?”
He stands and I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Everything mostly feels okay. All of my parts in working order.
“Do you need any meds?” he asks, hand hovering by my elbow just in case.
“Just Tylenol, which we have at home.”
“Okay.” A heavy sigh. “All right. You better come to my place.”
“What? No.” The bottom of my T-shirt had ridden up a little and I tug it back down. “She shouldn’t have called you. Sorry about that. But I’m all good, and I’ll be fine getting back on my own.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You get a concussion when you hit your head?”
“A mild one.” I shrug. “At least nobody tried to kill me this time. I’ll catch a cab back and rest up, put another ice pack on.”
“Doctor told you not to be on your own, didn’t he? That’s why Frances called me in here,” he says, leaning closer. “But instead of being reasonable, you’ve got to be a pain in the ass about it.”
“Ed, why are you being like this? You don’t want me in your life.”
“You know what I want even less? To have to talk you into letting me look after you for an afternoon, as if it’s something I want and you’d be doing me this great favor,” he says, jaw clenched. “Honestly, it’s like nails scratching down the chalkboard of my soul.”