The Guilty - Jason Pinter [74]
a hug. Let her know her big stupid boyfriend appreciates the
fact that in a few weeks he'll be able to cop a feel with both
hands."
"I got it, now give me a hand."
I wrapped an arm around Curt's shoulder as he led me
through the bright white corridors, navigating me around corners and blue-robed doctors until we reached the waiting room.
"I can stand," I said. Curt moved away, then opened the
door.
Amanda was sitting in the waiting room, tucked into a
beige chair, her feet tapping relentlessly. As soon as she saw
me she leapt up, ran over and threw her arms around me. I
winced as the blood flowed to my head, but I wrapped my
good arm around her and squeezed as hard as I could.
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"I'm tired of you being unconscious," she whispered into my
ear. I could hear the pain and relief in her voice. I wanted to find
the man who'd done this, who made Amanda feel this way.
"I'm okay," I said. "A little banged up. And I might need
you to open my soda cans for a few weeks."
"Not a problem," she said. Amanda unwrapped herself
and stepped back, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her eyes
were red, a clump of tissues falling from her hand. "Let's go
home."
I said goodbye to Curt and thanked him for his help. He
told me he'd give me a call in a few hours to make sure my
brain hadn't started leaking out of my ears. Nothing like a
good friend to help cheer you up when you're in pain.
We hailed a cab outside the emergency room of New
York/Columbia Presbyterian hospital. Amanda helped me
inside, as I made sure not to grip anything with my maimed
appendage. When we pulled up to our apartment, Amanda
again held the door and pulled me out of the cab. She paid
and all but carried me upstairs.
I fell into the couch as Amanda took off her coat and hung
it up. I took deep, slow breaths, closed my eyes, smelled something sweet. There was a mess of dried blood congealed by
the radiator along with the twine Amanda had cut from my
wrists. She saw what I was looking at and said, "I didn't have
time to clean up. I called an ambulance as soon as I found you."
She was standing over me, her face a mess of confusion,
fear and relief. "That's the second time you saved me," I said.
"Or is it the third?"
"I don't care," Amanda said, leaning down. Her hands
rested on my thighs, sending waves of electricity up my body.
"I'm sorry for leaving the other night. But when I saw you
and Mya outside, I--"
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Jason Pinter
"Stop," I said. "You don't have to explain anything." I
wanted to stroke her hair with both hands, to hold her face
with unscarred palms. "About Mya, it was nothing, it..."
"Stop. I don't want to talk about her. Not now, not ever."
I nodded. She was still wearing her work clothes--a smart
black skirt, a white blouse under a fitted black vest. I remembered the first time I met her--Amanda sitting in her car,
wearing a simple tank top fit to her toned body, the floor of
her Toyota strewn with empty fast-food wrappers. There
weren't many girls like her, who could look stunning both in
elegant work clothes and pajamas. Who looked beautiful
when they tried, and even more so when they didn't.
I mustered up some strength, leaned forward and gently
kissed her on the lips. She was slightly surprised, but after a
moment she pressed back hard. I could taste her strawberry
lip gloss, felt her hand as it came up to cradle my face. The
throbbing in my head and my hand quieted to a dull ache as
Amanda straddled my legs, supported her body against my
chest and kissed me harder and more passionately than she
had in a long time.
Adrenaline began to kick in, and keeping my injured hand to
the side I began to slide my good hand along her body. Up her
side, across her chest, between her breasts. I felt her heart beating
faster, her breath quickening. She ground against me, started to
kiss my neck. I brought my right hand up, careful not to flex it
too much, but Amanda took it and held it against the sofa.
"This stays here," she said between ragged breaths.