Page 64 of Proof Of Life
“All clear, Sarge.”
“Roger that,” I replied. The fine hairs on my neck stood at attention. Something wasn’t right. It was too qu–
The clicking was all too familiar, a death toll in my ear, chilling me to the bone, freezing me in my tracks. The boom that followed was deafening, followed by two more in rapid succession, and then the heat. The heat was unbearable, burning my skin, my eyes, even through my goggles. The force, or maybe Brandt, shoved me hard, and then…
Fuck! My body shakes, and I tumble and roll, hitting the ground with a painful thump. Sweating and shaking, I reach out blindly, in a dizzying state of confusion, for something familiar.
“You okay?”
I feel the cool wooden leg of the table beneath my fingers and grab on for dear life. “Get the fuck off me!”
“Let me help you.” Brandt is right there, his worried face so close I can barely bring it into focus. “Can’t believe you fell off the couch,” he says with a smirk.
Embarrassed, and a bit pissed at myself for such a piss-poor recovery of a humiliating situation, I snap, “I didn’t. I attacked the floor.”
“Backwards? You landed on your ass.”
Thanks for noticing, asswipe. “What can I say? I'm talented like that.”
My hip throbs and I roll onto my good side while massaging the bruise. Brandt stands and extends a helping hand to me. I don’t want to grab it. Hasn’t my pride suffered enough for one day?
“What was it?”
“The blast.”
“I hate that you had to see it again.”
Snorting, I say, “I see it every time I close my eyes.”
“You gonna let me help you up?”
“I can do it.” Like a stubborn ass, I grab the edge of the coffee table and struggle to sit up, but that’s as far as I can get on my own.
“Fine.” He grabs a pillow and settles on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“You want to stay here, so I’m getting comfortable.”
Why does he insist on loving me in the moments I hate myself most? “Fuck, you’re annoying.”
“You think? I think I’m pretty easygoing and likable.” He licks my cheek, all sloppy and wet, and grins. “Are we gonna be down here a while? ‘Cause if so, I’ll grab a snack.”
“Help me the fuck up. If for no other reason, just so I can get away from you,” I say with a good dose of annoyance. Brandt hops up and grabs me under the armpits, hoisting my useless ass onto the couch. “Will you grab my crutch so I can hobble to the bedroom and dress myself?”
I know I sound like a whiny toddler, brimming with self-deprecating sarcasm, but my pride took a hit, and my ego might still be on the floor, stuck underneath the coffee table. Maybe we’ll find it someday when we sweep up.
“You want me to dress you, too?” he asks, handing me the crutch I use to move around when I’m not wearing the prosthesis.
“Cute, smartass. If you follow me into the bathroom, you can wipe my ass, too.”
“No thanks. I can think of sexier sounding things to do with your ass.”
And just like that, I’m not mad anymore. My anger is replaced with embarrassment for my attitude.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you are,” he teases, shadowing me down the hall. “But I love you anyway.” Brandt veers toward the bathroom while I grab my clothes and I sit on the edge of the bed to attach my leg.