Ash & Dust

9| She Was Injured

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ASH
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One second I was struggling to stay on my own two feet without grinding my teeth to dust from pain, and the next Dustin was helping me sit down in the nearest seat to me. It was firm, awkwardly wide, and far from comfortable, just like all the other ones. Still, I didn't complain. I refused to, unless I kept the negativity strictly confined to myself. That was why my mind was filled with unkind words in regards to the tall man helping me without reason.

I hated the idea of appearing so needy in front of him. He was a stranger, and I never did well with strangers, unless they were kids. Especially not men. Right now, I just wanted him to walk out those annoying, slow to open, automatic doors and avoid approaching me if he ever spotted me in public again.

Yet, I wasn't pushing him away. Perhaps I was, mentally, but physically? I hadn't crossed that bridge. I should have. I tried to. After letting it slip about my family, I wanted to leave. I even attempted to, but didn't make it very far before the sharpest spasm I'd ever felt hit me in my side, right where Shai's man kicked me. Next thing I knew, Dustin was at my side, his large tattooed hands steadying me until I was stable without his touch.

He still was there, inches away, and that bothered me, because I didn't know why. Surely I wasn't the warmest of company. The cold floor tiles stained with the smell of antiseptic were more inviting than myself. I never wore perfume or scented lotion, so I doubted there was anything alluring about me at the moment. Not with my ripped jeans and mildly stained oversized hoodie.

Boredom. That was the only logical explanation, unless for some odd reason he actually enjoyed being near irritable and unapproachable people. If so, I felt sorry for the poor sap.

"I think someone's finally coming," he said, and I assumed he was referring to a doctor or nurse, the last people I wanted to talk to unless they had news on my mother.

Keeping my eyes closed and lips tightly shut, I focused on calming my breathing as the pain turned to a heavy ache. I could sense how close Dustin was, could almost feel his gaze, but I didn't move—couldn't find the energy to—and I was grateful he seemed to respect that. It was the least he could do if he insisted on being there.

But, why is he?

"Miss, we can take a look at you now. Do you need assistance making it to the bed? A doctor is already there."

Opening my eyes at the first sound of her voice, I found myself looking at the face of a small African-American woman in dark green scrubs. Her hair was short, in a tiny afro, and her teeth were so white as she smiled kindly at me. Even though my discomfort put me in the mood to be cold and rude, I stomached the pleasantries and tried to be as civil as possible.

"Thank you, but I'm not here for myself," I said, going back to closing my eyes a second later, hoping she'd get the hint that I wanted the conversation to end in record time.

"But, you look like you need a doctor, and I can't in good conscious recommend you not see one now," she pressed, her presence lingering and unwanted.

"Ashley, maybe you should-" Dustin began right as the nurse continued speaking.

"Miss, I really think-"

"Look!" I blurted out, raising my voice and cutting both of them off mid-sentence. "Yelena Ovechkin! That's my mother! I brought her in a few hours ago, you all gladly took her, and I'm not moving from this spot until I know how she is and when she'll be released! You want to help me? Then get me an update, because I asked for one centuries ago and haven't been told a damn thing!"