Dangerous

Chapter Eight

A/N: Still Day Two with Frankie over here

Xx

Ever so gently -- more gentle than he looked physically capable of being -- turned me around so my back was to him, always keeping a steady hand on some part of me to make sure I didn't topple over, "We're walking this way."

So... his arm was... around my back, now. Went and snaked it's way there when I was getting distracted by Frank's... everything, basically. And his fingers were gently curled around my left side, arm resting comfortably across the centre of my back, "That way," I nodded, regarding the small kitchen with a weary look, "We're walking... that way..."

Leave it to me to be such a procrastinator that I'm attempting to disobey the orders of a very attractive, very scary man who is literally breathing down my neck right now.

He put pressure on the arm that was around me -- his left arm -- silently urging me forward. I set my jaw, squaring my shoulders as I took a deep breath. I will not let this injury hold me back.

I could already feel the blood flowing through my leg, the feeling flooding back into my toes, and I thought that maybe it wasn't as severe as I thought? Like, yeah, there's a hole through my freaking leg, but Frankie stitched it up, I've been resting it up for a good.... few... hours... and I'm no doctor but I know that it won't be healed up. 'm not that big of an idiot. But still, maybe it didn't hit any major, like, tendons and bones and stuff and wouldn't take months to heal. With my newfound confidence, I took a step forward, left leg first, and so far so good.

Now for the next step. Frank still had a good grip on me, staying silent but still being there for me -- why, I have no freaking idea. But I did appreciate him being there. So, still feeling quite confident, I slowly pulled forward my right leg.

And promptly lost all balance when my leg gave out, and would have fallen face-first into the floor. It'd have been an uncoordinated sprawl akin to Brett Philips in the Brewers' closing game of their last series against the Pirates. Man that man was falling a lot... but we won so ha!

But I didn't fall. Granted, Frank's hold on my waist -- and my right arm -- tightened almost to a bruising grip to prevent my stumble from becoming something worse, but I stayed... moderately upright, "Whoa," he straightened me out, his hands loosening when he was content with my ability to stand, "You alright?"

My mouth was stuck in a silent scream, no noise coming from me. I slowly scrunched my eyes shut, holding myself together. The stumble was inevitable, yes, but all the feeling was back in my leg, now, and all I was feeling was pain. Red hot searing pain shot through and through. It felt like my entire limb was aflame and it took every ounce of my willpower not to freak out.

Frank must have noticed, because his tone was worried and I felt him looking at me as he asked again, "You alright, kid?"

"No." I squeaked out, "Pain... ow."

I think that was the first time I'd actually verbally expressed pain.

You ever have a leg fall asleep? Where it goes completely numb from, like, the knee on down, and you think, 'Oh, I'll get up and walk around to get the feeling back.' And the second you stand up, it's like someone shot a syringe of ice water into your leg, and it seems fine for just a split second, that the leg didn't fall asleep as badly as you thought. Then you try to step forward and your ankle is jelly, and you risk rolling -- or breaking -- the damn thing because it feels like a needle of novocaine was injected into your leg while you're in the middle of trying to stand on it. So then you make a mad grab for the nearest thing -- whether it be curtains, a countertop, chair or another human being -- to stable yourself.

And the cold numbness spreads up your leg, locking it up, stabbing in just all the wrong places with tiny pins and needles to make you cry out in pain as you struggle to regain what little dignity you may have left, all the while trying to shake the feeling back into your numb leg.

Yeah, that's essentially what was happening with my right leg right now. However, the gentle pins and needles had been replaced with, like... flaming knives slicing into every nerve in my leg.

Look. I'm terrible at analogies and words as it is, and with the bloody pain in my fucking leg, my mind is all sorts of janked up.

I'm in pain. Let's just leave it at that.

All this analogy shit running through my head wasn't doing anything to help distract me. What it was doing, however, was preventing me from remembering where I was and who I was with. I do believe Frank was saying something.

A hand waved gently in front of my face and I blinked, trying to yank myself back to the present, and then I noticed that I'd somehow gotten up onto the kitchen counter, and Frank was in front of me, looking concerned, "You alright?"

I have no recollection of placing myself on the counter, so my only assumption was Frank put me up here, though I don't quite know... why. Or how. Normally if I get lost in my head like that, someone touching me will result in bodily harm aimed at them.

"No, I'm not alright. Told y'that before," I was hungry and slightly agitated. And, now that I was up and off the couch, I was restless. I wanted -- no, needed -- to go for a run. Like, a mile run -- or, well, a two-hundred yard dash at full speed-- something. I needed to move, run, jog, fucking skip- I don't know!

This man was screwing up my brain. I hate it.

"D'you want-"

"No." I didn't need him to finish his question to know that he was offering a hospital visit, "No hospitals. I'll be fine."

He gave me a look, but didn't press further, "Hungry?"

"For more soup?" kind of, yeah, actually. I think I was hungry enough to eat everything within arm's reach.

"I was actually thinkin' we go out, get y'walkin' on that leg a little more," apparently, he was absent during my little almost-falling-on-my-face episode, "There's a little diner a few blocks from here. You feel up for it?"

I am most certainly not feeling up for it, "You're there to make sure I don't fall?"

He nodded a little, which was enough for me.

"Yeah, sure, I guess I'm up for it."

Even though, y'know, I'm dressed in his clothing. And have half of a good leg. And no shoes. But suuuuureeeeee, Bekah. Let's agree to go out to eat with this attractive stranger that may or may not be a murderer -- I still wasn't too sure about that, due to the bruises and, y'know, freaking armoury he had.

But, all the same, my mouth had agreed, and that's how I found myself being gently ushered out the door and into the hallway. And let me tell you, the fact that I was now fully conscious did nothing to improve the low-quality of what I saw the first time through. The walls were still that sickly off-grey-green colour, various cracks and stains illuminated by the overly bright fluorescent lights that flickered and buzzed overhead.

There were only about four other apartments on this floor, that I could see, anyway. The one we just stepped from was on the end, near the staircase, and then there was another two to the left of us and one that I could see around the corner, where the hall continued around the building.

The... is that white? linoleum under foot was peeling and stained and the floorboards beneath were creaking unsteadily under my feet, and truth be told I felt like it was going to break and I was going to fall to the next floor down.

I think Frank noticed my interest level in my surroundings was diminishing, and so he finally said something, "Stairs shouldn't be that big'a problem for ya, right?"

I nodded at him, "Yeah, I'll just use the railings as crutches, 'll be fine."

Xx

Goddamn I did it again with the terrible spreading of words

Grrr