Anita by Max Ellendale

Author:Max Ellendale [Ellendale, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance Suspense, Medical, Police
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

"Sit," Marita said when I emerged from the bathroom into the bedroom of my condo. I held the towel around my middle, and she patted the bed beside her where she had a first aid kit prepared. I listened to her, and she reached for my right hand. She guided it to her knee, and I watched as she cleaned and bandaged my ravaged hand. A big fat bruise already formed around my first two knuckles, and halfway up the back of my hand. "At least your form is good," she said, smirking at me. "No breaks."

"Very funny," I said, at the volume of a whisper. She wrapped the bandage, securing it with tape around my palm.

"Nora's been calling you." She nodded to my phone on the nightstand.

"Did you answer it?"

"The third time," she admitted. "I told her you were in the shower, but nothing else."

"Okay." I pulled my hand back once she was done. "Thank you." I let my gaze fall to the hem of the towel on my thighs when I started to cry again, soundlessly, and focused on the tears that dripped from my cheeks on to my leg.

Marita rolled forward, kissing my forehead as she gathered up the medical supplies and put them aside. "Come here with me," she said, moving to lean against the headboard of the bed. I watched her for a moment, choking on a sob. She held open the blanket and I just gave in. Thinking about any other action exhausted me more than accepting it. I moved closer to her, clutching the towel tightly as I climbed in next to her. Immediately, she wrapped her arm around my shoulders and tucked the blanket around me.

I pulled my knees to my chest and, despite every inch of me rigid with tension, rested my head on her shoulder. She offered me a tissue, her cheek against my forehead while she stroked my hair with delicate fingers. Her nails grazed my scalp, sending shivers down the back of my neck.

"I'm sorry that you're hurting and that you lost someone you cared about," she said softly. I cried quietly while I listened to her.

"It's so much more than any of that," I croaked and she gave me a squeeze.

"I know." She brushed her lips over my forehead again.

I sniffled, dabbing my face with the corner of the towel. "Faust said she must've taken something like Fentanyl, too. She took so much because of the Suboxone still in her system. Didn't feel anything so probably shot up more." Marita let me ramble while rubbing my arm soothingly. "I watched her die, Marita. I've seen numerous patients die. I've lost several to overdoses, and some by suicide. Why does this one feel so horrible?"

"It mattered more. She mattered to you more," she said, meeting my gaze when I looked up at her. "Things are different."

The desire to rile against her assertion bubbled in my chest, but mainly because she spoke the truth. Rebecca did matter more to me.

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