And it's about time I started embracing the new woman I've become.
I exit the bathroom and stand at the edge of the counter next to the shiny, metal cash register and wait for Peg. Minutes later, she swings through the double doors from the kitchen hip first, two steaming hot plates of food in her hands, and gives me a lopsided smile. “Can I help you, dear?”
I stare at her oddly. Do I have to wait for a bill or something? I shrug because I'm not really sure. “Uh. Um.” I stumble on my words. “I need to pay for my food and coffee.”
She scoots past me and grins. “No worries, dear. It's already been taken care of.”
Wait. “What?”
“Someone already paid for you.” Peg stops at the first booth and sets the plates down in front of a middle aged man and the middle aged woman across from him. “He included a generous tip as well,” she says with a waggle of her eyebrows. I open my mouth to ask her if it was Dr. Watson and she simply waves me off, gives me a smile, and says, “Have a nice day.”
I keep my eyes on the black tar of the parking lot, wondering why or if Dr. Watson was the one who paid my bill. When we locked eyes in the diner he looked more surprised and less thrilled to see me than anything. On top of that he was with another woman. They were going somewhere else to eat. When did he have time to come back and pay my bill?
A car door slams and ring out through the air, but I barely notice. My eyes are still on the ground, flitting across the sea of black. In fact, I don't notice anything until I ru
n into someone and feel their firm grip on my shoulders.
Dr. Watson stares down at me. His eyes are a bit warmer than they were earlier, but still a bit on the chilly side. I frown up at him. “Where is your girlfriend?”
He stares at my mouth and my cheeks flush. “She's not my girlfriend.” He releases my shoulders. “You should be careful and watch where you're going. I don't think you want to end up back in the hospital.”
“Why do you care where I end up?” I snap then brush past him, walking in the opposite direction.
He follows me and is at my side in an instant. “Stop acting like a child,” he scolds me. I see a haughty grin on his lips and it pushes me over the edge. Haven't I been through enough in my life? Haven't I endured the seven stages of hell? Haven't I been blown up into a million bits and pieces only to have to put myself back together again?
For the love of God! All I want is for him to be direct. I want him to stop with the cold, moody behavior, and I want him to stop telling me what to do. I whip my head around, glare at him, open my mouth to reply with a smart remark, and then I close it quickly. There's no point in arguing with him. I know it won't do any good. So I pick up my pace and walk faster. “Where do you think you're going?” he calls after me. I only gain a little distance before he's right up on my side again. I ignore him and break out into a jog. I can't see straight.
My eyes are foggy.
My mind clouded.
The way this man makes me feel is frustrating. There have times where I've had dreams about him. Dreams about his smoldering eyes. His full, enticing lips. Even his cool exterior that I've surprisingly grown fond of. But there have been other times, like now, where he infuriates me to the point where I'd rather jump off a cliff than stand next to him. I can't get away fast enough.
I'm running. I shut my eyes for half of a second, then out of nowhere, I hear a horn honk, tires screeching, and then a hand flies across my stomach like a metal bar and I stumble backwards before another hand grips my upper arm to keep me from falling. I open my eyes and stare up into Dr. Watson's amber eyes and they are hot, blazing full of fury. “You need to watch where you're going.” His voice is hard, but level. “Thank God I was here or you would have been hit by a car twice in your life.”
“What makes you think I wanted you to save me?” I spit fire with my words. “Maybe I wanted the car to hit me.” No I didn't. I just wasn’t paying attention, but I don’t want to admit that to him.
He takes a step back and gawks at me. “Do you value your life that little?”
“No,” I tell him. But sometimes I do. Sometimes I think everything would be easier if I were dead.
“Come.” Dr. Watson holds out his hand, but I refuse to take it. He waits for a few more minutes and when I still refuse his hand he grabs me the forearm and pulls me a long instead.
“Let go of me,” I protest. “Where are we going?”
He simply says, “Home.”
Home?
Home?
I want to tell him I don't have one. I don't have a home. I don't have a family. I don't have anything. I wish I could tell him about my life and why I'm so fucked up. But I can't. Maybe someday, but not right now. Instead I snarl, “I'm not going anywhere with you.”
Then he laughs.
He actually laughs.
I wonder which one of us is the ex-crazy person. “I happen to know Adelaide, that you have nowhere to go and it just so happens that I have a guest wing in my house where you can stay until you get on your feet.”