Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

“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 cynic

al 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.

Great, now I made her want to cry. I shake my head and return my focus back on my leg.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.” She drops onto the rug across from me and crosses her legs.

Another sharp throb echoes through my body, stealing away my attention. I don’t have time to concentrate on Chloe’s presence. I expel all my energy on the exercises I learned during my time in rehab. Mirror therapy is the cruelest of all the exercises, with me manipulating my brain into believing I have two whole legs.

The pain in my body lessens as I pretend my leg in the mirror is not my prosthetic. I go through the motions, flexing my foot and curling my toes before moving onto more complex movements. It takes thirty minutes to eradicate the pain. By the end of it, I lay down against the rug, sweaty and spent. Shadows play across the ceiling as the fan above me rotates.

Chloe lays down next to me, the heat of her body warming my side. “Do you believe in wishes?”