Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(52)

I make my way into my bedroom and grab my phone off the nightstand. A voicemail from my mom pops up on the screen. She rambles about packing extra clothes just in case we end up attending multiple activities in one day. Even after moving out at eighteen, she still babies me.

I move toward my luggage on the bed, shuffling my clothes around until it all fits. As I drag my luggage off the bed, it slips from my hands and slams on the ground. A shot of straight agony shoots to my right leg. My lungs burn from the sudden inhale of breath I take.

Phantom pains. I thought I had beaten this part of my healing, but another throb tells me how wrong I was. They’re one of the worst parts of losing my leg. Messages fire off from my brain, only to be met with a missing limb. It’s like a panic attack inside of my body, with my nerves freaking the hell out.

Fuck my right leg to hell and back. Fuck it all.

This pain isn’t real. Your leg is long gone. I chant my old mantra, praying the pain away.

Another wave of turmoil has me hunching. I bite back a curse, grinding my teeth to combat the ache. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin as I release a moan.

“Oh my God, are you okay? I heard something fall and was worried.” Chloe’s voice breaks through the sounds of my heavy breathing.

I hate how concerned she sounds as much as I hate her finding me like this. Weak. Desperate. In unbelievable pain. It’s like my demon couldn’t let me find happiness even for a couple of days with someone else.

No. My leg needs to be the star of the show, time and time again.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes once this passes.” My voice cracks.

I fumble with my leg, scratching at my jeans as I lift the hem. Another shudder runs through me as my body interprets an injury where there is no fucking appendage. I can’t withhold my groan in front of Chloe.

“You’re freaking me out and I don’t know how to help you!”

“Go outside. It’ll pass in a few minutes.” I somehow muster enough energy to reply. Every word takes effort, between my panting and the pain.

“Yeah no. You’re crazier than I thought if you think I’m going to leave you here like this.” Chloe drags a massive wingback chair from the corner of my room toward me. The scraping noise against the wood has the goosebumps on my arms rising.

The last thing I want is her help, but I can’t find it in me to snap something miserable. To push her away before she sees the mess I really am. Everything about us has been this grand fairy tale, with us avoiding the truth and pretending in front of everyone. But it’s not real. If she’s the princess who picks wildflowers and radiates sunshine, then I’m the beast—scarred with a personality to match. And like the beast, I’m better off left alone. Newsflash to the romantics out there: Belle suffered from Stockholm syndrome. No woman would’ve wanted that bastard if she wasn’t a prisoner.

“Please go away,” I rasp.

“No. I’d translate it into Spanish, but it’s the same shit, different language. So no and no.” She lulls the last word in a fake accent.

I want to smile, but I settle on a scowl.

She pushes my shoulders, forcing me to take a seat. “How can I help?”

The deep breaths I take do nothing to ease the ache. “Fuck. Give me a second,” I manage to say through my grinding teeth.

“Is it your leg? Do I need to call for an ambulance?” Chloe clutches onto my trembling hand and helps lift the hem of my jeans higher up my leg.

There’s my prosthetic in all its glory.

Chloe looks me straight in the eyes and doesn’t bother blinking. “Tell me what to do and stop acting like a princess about it.”

“Can you help me walk to the mirror over there?” I point to the massive full-length mirror next to my dresser. I kept it after all this time for occasions like this, but the damn thing is too far away.

Her brows draw together, but she doesn’t ask questions. She helps support my body as I limp toward the mirror. I try to keep most of my weight on my good leg, but I stumble. Chloe grunts at the sudden shift in weight.

My confidence shrivels up as we stop at the rug. I hang my head low against my chest. “Do you mind helping me to the floor?” I whisper the simple request, disgust settling deep within my gut.

This is the absolute worst thing that could’ve happened to me with Chloe. I feel humiliated as she helps me get situated up on the fluffy rug in front of the mirror. I tuck my prosthetic behind the mirror, hiding the appendage as I avoid Chloe’s gaze. I’m afraid of what I might find lingering behind those blue eyes.

She said over and over how she doesn’t care about my leg, but how can she not? I can barely look at it without being disgusted. And in this moment? I absolutely despise myself.

“Can I help you with anything else? Do you need an Advil or something?” Her sweet request has me releasing a cynical laugh up to the ceiling.

“No. What I need is to wipe your memory of the last ten minutes.”

“Well, it seems like you’re stuck with me now since the Men in Black are busy.”

I sigh, hating what comes next. “You can go now.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Don’t you want to go?” I peek up at her.

Her eyes reflect the same warmth she always has toward me. In fact, there’s a sheen to her eyes that wasn’t there earlier.