Winifred spotted me and stood as I pushed open the door. My knees wobbled unsteadily with each step, and I felt cold and dizzy. I kept my focus on the exit and the people around us. Winifred hovered beside me. Mary wrapped her arm through mine and let me lean on her. It helped. But I hoped they would catch me and run if I passed out.
No one paid us any attention as we crossed the room. They wouldn’t remember us leaving.
Outside, the sun hung low in the sky. I’d lost another day to another bite. I was as mad as I was annoyed.
Mary led me to the truck, and I carefully climbed in. The numbing medicine the doctor had put on my neck was starting to wear off, or maybe it was the pill the nurse had me swallow. Either way, the pain crept in; and the ride back home was rough.
Home. What a funny word with so many meanings. Home wasn’t a place I liked. It wasn’t where the people who loved me lived. Home was the place I slept. Nothing more. Should I really call it home then? What would I call it if not home? It was so much closer to a prison with wardens who liked to bite me.
My thoughts drifted as the truck bumped its way along the road. Mary had her arm around me, and I rested my head against her shoulder to help against the jarring.
The driveway to the buildings was the worst, even with Winifred going so slow.
“Stop,” I finally said. “I need to walk.” If I stayed in the truck, I would throw up.
Winifred eased the truck to a stop. Mary and I got out. The waist high grass was no longer untouched. Two paths, from Winifred’s visits, marked the way. I thought it might make walking easier, but my feet tangled in the matted grass and I tripped often.
“I can carry you,” Mary said as she walked along beside me. I didn’t doubt she could.
“Thank you, but I think it would be better if I walked. Maybe I could hold your arm, though,” I said when I almost fell again. I wrapped my fingers around her upper arm and moved forward. Having her as an anchor did help steady the spinning. The fresh air and slow pace settled my stomach, too.
Winifred followed us with the truck. My shuffling pace forced her to stop frequently, but neither she nor Mary said anything about our progress. I kept my eyes on the ground until I noted a patch of grass ahead where the shade gave way to sun. We’d almost reached the clearing.
I looked up. The men must have heard the approach of the truck because they all stood silently waiting. For what, I didn’t know. But as long as I had their attention, I would use it.
I stopped walking and turned to Mary. Behind us, the truck’s engine quieted.
“Can you help me take the bandages off?”
She glanced at the truck then back at me before she reached forward and gently peeled the tape back from my skin. I held myself still through each tender tug and watched her face. Worry pinched her brow when she saw the stitched wounds for the first time. I hadn’t yet seen them for myself and doubted I would here, not unless I used one of the mirrors on the truck. Based on her reaction, I might be better off if I didn’t look. However, I wanted everyone else to see.
Once she had the bandages in her hand, I started forward again. This time without her support. I slowly wove my way through the men, more concerned with my pain than their intense attention. When I stood in the center, I carefully turned and let my gaze sweep them.
“Biting hurts,” I said, enunciating each word as if I spoke to toddlers. “Stop biting.” When I found Thomas and Gregory in the crowd, I stopped moving. “Kindness and consideration are not games.”
Thomas gave a barely perceivable nod. Satisfied, my gaze passed over the men surrounding me. Their expressions no longer held aggression or eagerness. Each held a mixture of guilt and concern.
“I need a week. Please, leave me alone. I just want to sleep.”
Most of the men around me had the grace to look away. I should have felt triumphant, but the pain in my neck robbed me of my victory.
I trudged to the door, and everyone parted to make way for me. It was odd to see the group so still and silent. Even the ones on four legs.
Mary moved ahead and opened the door for me, but Winifred remained behind. Inside, the table was set, and a rabbit was on the fire.
I ignored the food, went to the pump, and dug in the bag for the pills the nurse gave me. I shook out a painkiller, ignored the antibiotics, and reached for the pump handle.
“Let me do that for you,” Mary said.
She pumped a cup of water then followed me as I slowly made my way upstairs. I stood in the doorway and blinked at the room. The man was gone, but there was blood on my pillow. Quite a bit of it. Some even sprinkled the fitted sheet.
“Here,” Mary said, quickly grabbing the pillow from her bed and exchanging the two.
I willingly lay down, and Mary covered me with an extra blanket.
Maybe sleeping on bloody sheets was just one of those things I needed to get used to while living here.
A gentle touch pulled me from sleep, and the soft glow of the lantern greeted me when I opened my eyes. Everything around me was silent and dark, except Winifred. She watched me from a chair beside the bed.