Conversion by Misty Walker

Author:Misty Walker [Walker, Misty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novel
Publisher: Misty Walker
Published: 2019-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

Gunner

2017

I walked the seven miles from Tiana’s house, back to the hotel. I could have called an Uber, but I needed the fresh air and the time to think about what just happened.

I put no fault on her family. I look at where I come from, what I’ve done, and no. I can’t fault them. I like Tiana. She makes me feel like a real person, not like the robot I have been for most of my life. I will always be grateful to her for that, but I can’t bring her into this. It’s not fair. Asking an angel to brighten my dark soul would suck the light from her and cause her to dim. I don’t want that for her. She deserves to shine.

I grab whatever food I can scrounge from the vending machine and head to my room. My spotless room that Tiana came over to clean just days ago, to save me from getting an infection. The sterile smell seems so out of sorts for the run-down furniture and dingy lamp shades, but I breathe it in because it reminds me of her.

I debate texting T to see if she’s okay, but decide against it. It’s better to not draw this out. I climb into bed and grab the pillow she used for her nap. It still smells of honeysuckle, so I snuggle into it and close my eyes, ready for this day to be over with.

The next morning, I wake to my phone chirping. Blindly reaching for it on the nightstand, I see I have a text message.

Tiana: Hey

That literally gives me no clues as to how she’s feeling or where we stand. I play it safe.

Gun: Hey.

I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom where I take a piss and brush my teeth. My arms are super achy after all the activity yesterday. I have physical therapy today. The pain will only get worse. I walk back to the nightstand and see I have another message from T.

Tiana: Can we meet up today?

Gun: I have physical therapy this morning, but maybe this afternoon?

Tiana: Sure. Text me when you’re done?

Gun: Okay.

At PT, my therapist removes my bandages and tells me things are healing nicely. It doesn’t feel like things are okay as she massages the burned flesh and makes me go through a few sets of stretches. Although it looks much better than it did, it still makes my stomach turn to see the red, angry skin that is bumpy and puckered, the patches of skin that don’t quite match the texture or tone of the rest of my forearm. It’s such a foreign sight, like these arms don’t belong to me. She assures me it’s normal and I’m right on track for healing. She applies a compression bandage that will help the scar tissue from becoming too hard and explains that I need to wear it every day. It’s tolerable.

Before I drive out of the parking lot, I shoot T a text. We agree to meet at the motel, so I head back that way.

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