I’m going to miss watching you struggling to walk.” Crispen takes his sweater off and tosses it onto the back of a chair at the kitchen table effortlessly before taking a seat on the couch. “You should get some more rest.”
I can’t argue with that. I lean my head against his shoulder and fall back asleep almost immediately.
When I wake up, he is gone again. This doesn’t surprise me, he’s been working the early morning shift, and I can’t keep his hectic schedule straight. I notice that he forgot his sweater, it still sits on the back of the kitchen chair that he threw it on last night. I need to do laundry today anyways, so I decide to add it to the pile for him.
I gather the rest of the laundry, and I’m about to throw it all in when a deep red stain catches my attention. It looks like blood. Fresh blood. I look closer at Crispen’s sweater and lie a finger on the red splotch. It’s still damp, and it’s not just a little blood. It’s a stain the size of my open hand across the back of the sweater. What the heck? Did he hurt himself? Maybe he got a bloody nose or something.
I take a picture of it and shoot it to him in a text message with a bunch of questions marks. I then rub stain remover across the mess and toss it in with the rest of the laundry.
“It was juice,” a throaty voice says from behind me, as I close the washing machine lid. I scream in surprise only to see Crispen standing in the laundry room doorway.
“I thought you were at work!”
He shakes his head. “I finally have a day off. I was just upstairs showering. I didn’t expect you to be up already.”
I hold a hand over my heart dramatically as if he’s almost given me a heart attack. Well, he almost did! I remember what it was like a few weeks ago when I was constantly scared out of my wit and jumping at every small noise and movement that I didn’t expect. I’m glad that the paranoia has worn off drastically. If no one’s come for me yet, I doubt anyone will.
“That was not juice ,” I argue and point at the washing machine. I’m sure my voice comes off a little harsh, as I’m still shaken up by surprise.
He shrugs. “Hmmm. I could’ve been wearing it at the hospital yesterday who knows.” The fact that he has a bunch of blood on his sweater doesn’t seem to surprise or bother him in anyway. How do you not notice getting that much blood on yourself?
I eye him wearily, searching his face. Whatever I’m looking for, I don’t find it. We continue to stare at each other a moment longer, before he smiles. “What do you want to do today?”
“I think I’m going to go get some groceries. If you want, we can hang out here at noon?” I suggest and throw my hair behind my ears.
“Do you think you can manage getting to and from the grocery store all on your own?” he wonders half-jokingly.
I stick my tongue out at him and squeeze past him. I run upstairs and get ready quickly before making my weekly run to the grocery store. I spend a little more than expected which bugs me slightly, because I’m currently jobless. I really need to get on that.
When I return to the house, it’s nearly noon. I shove my groceries away in cupboards and fix myself a sandwich for lunch. When twelve-thirty rolls around, and Crispen still hasn’t arrived, I begin to worry. He is never late, if he is, he calls to let me know. I know he hasn’t been called in to work, because his car is parked in front of his house down the road.
I call his cell phone at one and then again at two. I remind myself that he was up in the middle of the night, and maybe he just fell asleep at home. When night rolls around and I still haven’t heard from him, I decide to call the hospital. It’s possible that he walked to work, it really isn’t that far.
I’m shocked when I ask to speak to him, and the lady on the other end says she can’t find who I’m looking for in the hospital directory. She claims that there is no doctor employed there under
I can’t argue with that. I lean my head against his shoulder and fall back asleep almost immediately.
When I wake up, he is gone again. This doesn’t surprise me, he’s been working the early morning shift, and I can’t keep his hectic schedule straight. I notice that he forgot his sweater, it still sits on the back of the kitchen chair that he threw it on last night. I need to do laundry today anyways, so I decide to add it to the pile for him.
I gather the rest of the laundry, and I’m about to throw it all in when a deep red stain catches my attention. It looks like blood. Fresh blood. I look closer at Crispen’s sweater and lie a finger on the red splotch. It’s still damp, and it’s not just a little blood. It’s a stain the size of my open hand across the back of the sweater. What the heck? Did he hurt himself? Maybe he got a bloody nose or something.
I take a picture of it and shoot it to him in a text message with a bunch of questions marks. I then rub stain remover across the mess and toss it in with the rest of the laundry.
“It was juice,” a throaty voice says from behind me, as I close the washing machine lid. I scream in surprise only to see Crispen standing in the laundry room doorway.
“I thought you were at work!”
He shakes his head. “I finally have a day off. I was just upstairs showering. I didn’t expect you to be up already.”
I hold a hand over my heart dramatically as if he’s almost given me a heart attack. Well, he almost did! I remember what it was like a few weeks ago when I was constantly scared out of my wit and jumping at every small noise and movement that I didn’t expect. I’m glad that the paranoia has worn off drastically. If no one’s come for me yet, I doubt anyone will.
“That was not juice ,” I argue and point at the washing machine. I’m sure my voice comes off a little harsh, as I’m still shaken up by surprise.
He shrugs. “Hmmm. I could’ve been wearing it at the hospital yesterday who knows.” The fact that he has a bunch of blood on his sweater doesn’t seem to surprise or bother him in anyway. How do you not notice getting that much blood on yourself?
I eye him wearily, searching his face. Whatever I’m looking for, I don’t find it. We continue to stare at each other a moment longer, before he smiles. “What do you want to do today?”
“I think I’m going to go get some groceries. If you want, we can hang out here at noon?” I suggest and throw my hair behind my ears.
“Do you think you can manage getting to and from the grocery store all on your own?” he wonders half-jokingly.
I stick my tongue out at him and squeeze past him. I run upstairs and get ready quickly before making my weekly run to the grocery store. I spend a little more than expected which bugs me slightly, because I’m currently jobless. I really need to get on that.
When I return to the house, it’s nearly noon. I shove my groceries away in cupboards and fix myself a sandwich for lunch. When twelve-thirty rolls around, and Crispen still hasn’t arrived, I begin to worry. He is never late, if he is, he calls to let me know. I know he hasn’t been called in to work, because his car is parked in front of his house down the road.
I call his cell phone at one and then again at two. I remind myself that he was up in the middle of the night, and maybe he just fell asleep at home. When night rolls around and I still haven’t heard from him, I decide to call the hospital. It’s possible that he walked to work, it really isn’t that far.
I’m shocked when I ask to speak to him, and the lady on the other end says she can’t find who I’m looking for in the hospital directory. She claims that there is no doctor employed there under
Similar Books
