Chasing Pavements

eight

8
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𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊

I leaned against the large yacht's railings. The wind is blowing against my face, and my hair is all over the place.

"You better not jump," August mumbles as he takes a long drag on his cigarette.

I snigger at his vigilance. I'd been here for exactly three days and counting, sailing on this boat with the men who had found me. August Derek was entrusted with the duty of serving as my personal guard. I didn't believe him, even though he said he didn't mind-I had asked him out of reassurance if he felt like I was a burden-especially now that his eyes flutter, preventing himself from falling asleep. I despised being a burden.

"Why don't you just go to bed, August? The doctor will be around shortly. I'm going to be fine." As I approached his seated figure, I told him. As I walked, the bright floral white summer dress I was wearing swayed with the wind.

Every day, the Doctor checks in on me, trying to elicit bits and pieces of information from me because that was all I was willing to give. Even though I told him he didn't need to, or rather, didn't have to, he insisted and made a conscious effort to keep an eye on me. It occurs to me from time to time that he may have been ordered to do so by Stavros. That ferocious, enigmatic hunk of a man.

I haven't seen him in a few days, either. He's as undetectable as a ghost. His friend, Strom, who I remember from high school, was the one who informed me that August was my guard, but he never mentioned Stavros. That's all. He vanished into thin air, leaving no trace. I was drawn to him. I was like a moth enticed to a flame.

As she burns, a moth that never seemed to learn. Her wings were disheartened, bruised, and chipped. She's always getting hurt.

Doctor Gertrude arrived just minutes after I returned to my room. It took a lot of convincing and energy to get August to go rest. The man was seriously falling apart. I'm sure if he kept up his all-nighters, he'd meet St. Peter sooner rather than later.

"So, doctor. What have you got for me today?" As my hip jutted out, I perched an arm on top of my nightstand.

He laughed and shook his head. With us, there has never been a dull moment. I felt... unshackled. The sense of freedom was surreal. One I'd never felt before, and I feared that one day I'd wake up and realize it was all a dream. A make-believe reality. A misguided hope.

"How are your bruises healing, are they getting better?" As the clicker of his pen twists on the skin of his chin, he wonders.

I give a nod. "It's much better. There were a few yellowings, but the ointment you gave me helped to fade them slightly."

"That's fantastic," he said, opening his pen and writing it down on his clipboard. "How about your ribs?"

I instinctively reached up to my ribcage and felt around for any pains. "No more aches and pains."

"All right, that's good." He nods, pleased with my responses. As he pulls out his glasses, I knew what was going to happen next. "Now. Have you given my suggestion any thought?"

Theraputic treatment. That was his recommendation. He invited me to attend his sessions. Doctor Gertrude had several degrees, one of which was in therapy. He analyzed me without knowing the entire story, only bits and pieces of it. He praised me; of course, I was in good mental health. According to him, I handled the situation very well. But I'm also very good at hiding my emotions. I admit to myself that I was numb. But I would never admit it to him.