The Way We Feel

Chapter 20

       

My foot looked like it belonged to another person entirely. It was swollen and red, and panged insistently almost every second.

Then, the doctor rolled my ankle.

"Shit," I hissed, wincing as the pain intensified.

The doctor smiled. "I don't think it's broken, but we'll send you for an X-Ray just to be sure."

I nodded glumly. That's what I'd come here for, but I seriously hoped it wasn't broken.

I'd felt it when it happened. A strange, unnatural sort-of rolling motion of my ankle while I was running on set. I felt my foot dip into a crevice in the flooring—put there as part of the uneven ground the characters would be running across in a heavily wooded area of Switzerland. Felt my ankle twist at an odd angle, felt things shift out of place, then, burning pain...

I'd hit the floor hard, too. My wrist was still a little sore from catching myself before my shoulder or head could take the brunt of the fall. And I'd hit the ground many times over the course of the last two months. Had come home bruised and bloodied after a tough day on set. But this...

I'd known something was wrong as soon as I landed.

But as if it needed to prove itself, my ankle swelled quickly. Everything stopped. Everyone rushed over to me when I didn't get up, breathing deeply through my teeth to try and work through the pain, reaching for my ankle before anyone could notice that something was wrong.

I had every intention of getting back on my feet before anyone could become too concerned, but the pain when I tried to stand was impossible to ignore. Or to hide.

Guilt coursed through me when the on-set medic decided I should go for an X-Ray just to be safe, because I knew what this meant. What it would mean if my ankle was broken.

Best case scenario, filming would be delayed a few days, costing everyone time and money. Worst case... it would be put off indefinitely. Costing everyone even more time and money.

And it was all my fault.

Chris wouldn't hear a word of it though. Wouldn't even accept my profuse apologies because "there was no need" for one. It was an accident, he'd said. Take care of yourself, he'd said.

I knew he was right, but that didn't mean I couldn't be angry with myself for falling over like a complete idiot in the first place.

I sighed, lying there on the bed in the emergency room with only Jeff at my side. He was pacing, arms crossed, watching every doctor, nurse, and patient as they passed, counting the ticking minutes just as I was. Understanding, even more with each of those minutes, what an injury meant.

But he'd also been one of the first people at my side. He'd been the one to help me stand, to keep his arm around me and help me limp over to a chair. He'd been the one with his hand on my shoulder as the medic pressed and rolled my ankle, his grip tightening each time I hissed or grimaced. And he was the one here with me now, just as concerned as I was about what this would mean for the film, and maybe even more concerned than I was for my own well-being.

He sat beside my cot when it seemed evident that the doctor wasn't about to return, sighed, and ran his hands over his face so that his fingertips ended up beneath this chin. He looked at me. "How's it feel?"

I glanced at my ankle, didn't even bother trying to move it. A nurse had come in and wrapped it with ice, but the doctor's ministrations had jostled the wrapping a bit. "Like too many people have been touching it."