Collapse by A. Wendeberg

Author:A. Wendeberg [Wendeberg, Annelie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A. Wendeberg

***

Alex

The wound throbs, but I tell myself that I’ve had worse. The couch is comfortable, so that’s a plus. Gingerly, I roll from my back onto my healthy side, drop my feet to the floor, and sit up. My head spins. What time is it? Early in the morning or late in the evening? The house is dead quiet. I’m guessing it’s just before sunrise.

Slowly, I stand, keeping a grip on the armrest. I turn to gaze out the window. Is that…the sea? So what I’ve been hearing isn’t tinnitus or the singing of blood loss, but the actual fucking sea? How the hell did I get here? The…what’s her name? Eve. She must have driven what? Four, five hours? I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember the ride, but all I recall is the pain, the exhaustion, and her…crying?

She stitched me back up. That, I remember clearly.

Fuck. She called the cops! Didn’t she say that? I have to get out of here. A soft noise by the door stops me. I whip around, lose my balance, and plop back on the couch.

‘You’re up already.’

Too stunned to say anything, I watch her approach. Dark hair in a ponytail, a shirt and PJs, face still half asleep. She must believe I’m not rapist material. At least not in my current state.

‘You okay? How’s the wound?’

I nod. Did I pretend last night that I don’t speak the language? I didn’t. I should have, though. She thought I was a refugee or something. If I’m lucky, she still thinks that.

She points at my arm. ‘I’d like to see if it’s clean and the stitches are okay. Last night was a bit…’ She frowns.

‘Hasty?’ Slips out of my mouth.

‘Yep.’ She smiles. ‘Actually, it’s only been an hour or so. Um… How ‘bout I make us breakfast, and after you’ve eaten and the sun’s up I check my needlework?’

‘It can’t remember what happened,’ I croak, trying to play the part of the poor, injured guy that I am.

‘You can’t?’

I shrug and immediately realise my mistake. The pain is exquisite.

‘Can you stand?’

I produce a half-hearted nod, and reach to take her offered hand. It’s warm and soft. The whole woman looks soft. A rich kid who’s never had to work hard in her life.

We shuffle through a corridor and into the kitchen. Yeah, that kitchen I do remember. The rug is bunched up on the floor. The bloody bandages, the needle, and the vodka are gone.

As she switches on the lights, my gaze falls on a photo taped to the fridge. My mind stutters as it processes the information. The kitchen begins to tilt, but that picture stays in the centre of my vision, painfully sharp.

‘Hey!’ She grabs my midriff and sits me down. I have to put my head on the table. My heart is hammering so hard, I’m worried my chest will burst. Feeling nauseous, I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe slow. One deep in, one deep out. Repeat.

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