After taking a seat on the couch, I lift my leg up and place my foot on the cushion so I can roll the pant leg of my jeans, allowing me to easily remove the tape from my ankle. The tape is wrapped in different directions, and it takes me a few minutes to figure out how to get it all off. I almost sigh in relief at the freedom of having nothing wrapped around my ankle. Without the restriction of the tape, I move my ankle up and down, but it doesn’t take long before I hiss in pain at moving it too far.
Okay, so maybe the tape isn’t the worst thing.
Using the damp cloth I brought from the bathroom, I gently clean the skin that had been hidden under the tape. Black and blue splotches still mar the area with some yellow starting to show through.
After drying the affected area, I inspect the two different kinds of tape I’d been given. One of them is the same colour as the tape I just removed, and the other is a bright blue.
What’s the difference?
Too busy trying not to focus on Sebastian as he watched on from under his heavy brows, I didn’t actually take in what the doctor was saying. The brown roll looks to be the same as the one he had used, so I pick it up, thinking it’s my best bet.
As I roll it in my hands, I have no idea where to start. Shadow tilts his head to the side as if to say he doesn’t have a clue either.
Surely, it can’t be that hard.
I grab on to the end and pull until I have a long piece unwound, then I try to tear it off like I remember the doctor doing.
Except itdoesn’t tear.
The more I try to rip it, the more tangled it gets, parts of the tape sticking to itself. After what seems like forever, I finally manage to tear through it and carefully un-stick the tape from itself.
Now that I have my piece, I realise I have no idea what to do with it. Trying to remember what the doctor did, I stick one end to my lower ankle, running it over the top of my foot, then underneath. Except when I try to pull the tape from underneath my foot, the remaining tape twists, sticking to itself, yet again.
Oh, come on.
My attempt to pull it apart just seems to make things worse. I’m about to rip it off and start again when the lift sounds, making me jump. The doors slide open, but I don’t have time to move. Shadow stands, and my pulse kicks up. It can’t be Sebastian. It’s not even midday.
So many thoughts rush through my mind that I can’t pinpoint anything other than the feeling of panic snaking its way around my throat.
But then the doors clear, revealing the same man from yesterday. My panic subsides somewhat at the familiar face, but my muscles remain rigid. The man takes a step inside the luxury penthouse, if only to avoid being shut in the lift but makes no moves to enter further.
I scramble through my memories for his name.
Taylor.MasonTaylor.
Mason scans the penthouse and almost instantly spots me on the couch, with Shadow already on the move to greet him. He offers me a kind smile before greeting Shadow as the dog reaches him. He crouches in front of Shadow and pats his head and back while Shadow tries to lick his face, tail wagging.
“I don’t mean to intrude. I’ve just come to take Shadow out,” he says, looking over Shadow’s head to me. I start to nod, but he continues, “Unless you don’t need me to, I wasn’t sure if anyone would be here today.”
I don’t know what it is, but something tells me these small outings mean a lot to him. Also, I’m not sure how on earth I’d be able to take Shadow anywhere when I can barely handle him being close to me.
“No, you’re fine,” I say and try to offer a reassuring smile. “Thank you,” I add.
He nods and starts to stand, but his eyes catch on what I’ve been doing. A small frown mars his forehead before he covers it. “Do you need a hand?” He angles his head towards my ankle and the mess I’ve made with the tape.
“Oh, no. I’m okay, thank you, though.” My words come out rushed.
“Are you sure? I’ve strapped my share of ankles in my time,” he says, his demeanour still open and friendly. He hasn’t come any further into the penthouse, and I look back to my sad attempt at taping my ankle. If he were here to hurt me, surely, he would have done so already.
I nod, and Mason takes that as approval, and only then does he approach me. His steps are measured, and there’s something about the way he carries himself, like he’s aware of everything going on around him, even in this quiet penthouse.
He stops by the edge of the couch and sits down, careful of my foot still perched on the couch.
“May I?” He holds out his hand but doesn’t make any moves to touch me.
My gaze bounces from his hand to his face. I nod again, giving him permission.
Mason lifts my foot into his hands and carefully removes the tape I’d unsuccessfully tried to wrap around my ankle. His touch is tender as he tilts my foot slightly and inspects the bruising. “It looks like a nasty sprain. How long ago did it happen?” he asks, still looking it over, and I flinch when a sharp pain radiates through my ankle. “Sorry,” he says, an apology written on his face.