Rough Ryder by Elizabeth Veatch, Crystal Smith Page A

              “It looks like your letting nothing get to you.”
                       “He said, I was fucked up.  That’s more than nothing.  I am fucked up.”
                       “You. Are. Not. Fucked. Up.  Why would you think that?”
                       “If I’m not, why does he think I am?”
                        “That’s not a question for me.  Sounds like you need to be talking to him.”
     
    xxx
                        Trinket woke with a start.  It felt like she had just fallen asleep.  The knock on the door this time was followed by the turning of the knob.  Mel poked her head in, “Supper is ready.  You didn’t come down.  I thought maybe you needed something.”
                       Trinket put her head back down on the pillow, pulling the blanket up over her eyes.  She could tell they were swollen and she didn’t want Mel to think anything about it. 
                       “I’m not feeling good.  I think I’ll just pass.”  It wasn’t a blatant lie.  It wasn’t exactly the truth either.
                       “Do you want me to send something up for you?  We have some chicken noodle soup or just some broth if you want.”
                       “No, I don’t feel like much of anything.  But thank you.”  She had no appetite.  She wanted to curl back up, go back to sleep and wake up when the week was over.
                       “Okay, well if you need anything just ask.”
                       “Thank You.”  Trinket rolled away from the door.  The only thing she needed was a case of chronic amnesia going back several years.  Something to make her forget how fucked up she was.
    xxx
                       Another knock on the door.  Trinket rolled over in the bed, waiting for Mel to just come in like she had been.  When the door didn’t open, she called out to it.  “Yeah.”
                       Her eyes grew when she saw who it was.  “What do you want?”  She barked out.
                       “Well, hello to you to.  You haven’t been out in two days.  Mel said you are sick.  Is that true?”  He stared her out waiting for the answer. 
                       “Yep.”  She rolled back over, covering her head with the pillow.
                       “Are you sure?”  His voice had changed.  She hated that about him.  With just the change of his voice, she wanted to do whatever he wanted.  That wasn’t who she was.  She didn’t do anything unless she wanted to do it.
                       “Yep.”  She could hear herself trying to steady her breathing.  In her mind, she was telling him, ‘no I’m not sick, just fucked up’.  Tears began making their appearance known, about the same time as her heart pulled and tightened.
                       “I don’t believe you.”  He was calling her a liar.  A liar that she was. 
                       “What do you care?  Just go away.”  She sniffled against the pillow.
                       “Are you crying?”  His voice still in the same tone, but it had softened.
                      “No, just go away.  Please.”  She was fighting to hide it.  But it took all of about two seconds for her sobbing to break free.  She was hurt.  Embarrassed that he was standing in her room listening to her cry.  She didn’t cry in front of people.
                       The next thing she knew, she heard the thug of boots, weight moving on the bed next to her, and then he was rolling her to her side, sliding in behind her.  He pulled her against his chest, not giving her a choice.
                        “What are you