I sit up quickly, wincing, not wanting to see him go. I may not know him well, but at this point, he’s all I have until I can sort out what to do about Vivian.
Charles sees me jerk up and catches the flash of pain on my face. He’s across the room in two easy strides, like just my thoughts have pulled him to me. His attention on me is so complete that my cheeks flush.
Rather than tell him the real reason I sat up, I grab the remote that was easily in my reach and wave it at him in explanation. “I’ll see you tomorrow I guess,” I say, trying to keep my voice cool.
My answer seems to please Charles because a faint smile graces his lips, possibly the first I’ve seen. I can’t help but smile in response. I want to make him do it again.
Carlos watches Charles pack up and leave and waits till he’s out the door to start talking. “You really put a spell on him, Miss Daniels. He refused to leave your side unless it was to go home and shower,” Carlos says, with a little chuckle.
When I’m alone in my room, I decide to Google the man who’s footing this bill. Charles Breckenridge yields several results. After diving in further I see that there are two of them, father and son. They work at the same company; from their ultra sleek website, it looks like they do something in finance. I skim the news articles that mention him, mostly staring at the polished pictures of him in a tuxedo beside beautiful women. Somehow a man that looks like he could be James Bond has become my ruin and my saving grace.
True to his word, Charles shows up the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. At first, I’m weirded out by his constant attention, but then I start to look forward to his visits after just two days. It’s lonely in the hospital when he’s focused on work, so even having him there to chat with between meetings makes me feel a little less alone. He’s usually working, but he brings me the paper and a tablet to entertain myself like I’m a small child on a flight.
“I’m not a kid,” I say waving the tablet at him as it boots up.
“No, you’re not,” he agrees, glancing up from his computer. The hospital sheet is gathered around my hips while I sit up, so I can’t miss how his eyes dip over my body. The look isn’t hungry, but a reminder that he’s well aware that I’m not a child. I feel my cheeks burn in response, and I zip up the hoodie, another gift from Charles, giving my body a more shapeless look. He has the good grace to be embarrassed for being caught.
“Then why do you insist on treating me like one?” I snap. At my best moments, I’m able to feel guilty about being so short with him. Charles truly is doing everything in his power to make me more comfortable, but moments like this, where I’m itching to get out of this bed, suffocate those feelings in favor of taking out my frustration on the only person not being paid to put up with my bad attitude day after day. Most nights, when I try to apologize for my numerous transgressions during the day, Charles waves me off, using my mental, physical and emotional exhaustion as excuses for how I’ve battered him.
I feel like I’m tired all the time, but the docs tell me that’s to be expected. My physical condition, outside of being run over, was apparently not great to begin with. Whatever that means.
“I’m not. I just wanted you to have something larger to look at while surfing the web and trying to catch up on all the things you missed. If you woke up in the middle of the night, I wanted you to not feel so alone.”
My fingers dig into the box in my hands, and a quick glance at Charles confirms he’s back to setting up his workspace for the day. How he manages to have a level tone and put up with my bullshit, I don’t understand. I want to reach out and touch him and thank him profusely for being so thoughtful, but he’s across the room and I’m stuck in bed.
“Is that why you programmed your number into my new phone?” I ask, opting for a cheeky response.
I swear, the man blushes, and I want to make him do it again. “I wanted you to have someone you could reach out to even when we go our separate ways.”
When. I want to frown at the word, but I don’t. “Well thank you. You’re really too generous.”
He shrugs, unsure of how to respond to my gratitude.
Emotions are different, of course, when I come back from physical therapy in a wheelchair and I hurl the water bottle in my hand at him. Unlike with the cup this catches him off guard and it hits his arm. My muscles are aching so deeply and I’m in so much pain from my leg to my arm that I’m crying.
“I hate you,” I grit out, not wanting him to see my tears. The nurse pushing my wheelchair isn’t on my floor, she’s from the physical therapy department, and she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know who Charles is to me, but right now I don’t care. I don’t want him to see my pain, I don’t want him to see my tears. I want him to leave me alone. I wish that he had just left me alone, left me on the street.
Charles looks at the nurse, then at me, looking lost, unsure of what to do to make this better, unsure of how to help me.
“She’s getting discharged tomorrow,” the nurse explains.
I don’t want her help getting from the chair into bed, even if my unbroken leg is screaming, even if every bone in my body feels brittle and likely to break. I’m supposed to keep my other muscles strong so I’m not at such a deficit when my cast comes off.
“And then what? I live in a walk-up. Seven floors up, you said. I’m independent. I don’t need a man to swoop in and save the day. You’ve ruined me and my life,” I choke out, as a sob finally breaks through. I’m almost at the bed when my good knee gives out, exhausted from having to bear my weight alone.
Charles jumps to me, catching me around the middle, which only makes me snarl in rage. He and the nurse help me into bed, setting my pillows because I can’t even reach behind my back.
When the nurse walks out of the room, Charles speaks. “I know you probably don’t want to, but I want you to stay with me.”
I turn to look at him, aghast. “Stay with you?”
“Is there an echo in this room? Yes. I have the space.”
“This is New York City, no one has space.” I’m still furious but his earnestness is thawing my rage.
“I do. I have a spare room you can use. I have an elevator in my building and we can have your physical therapist come to you. I also live by Central Park and I have a gym and I’m not far from here, actually. Think about it, Let me do this for you.”
I scowl, looking away from him.