Michael's jeep jerked to a stop in front of my mailbox. I winced as the sudden movement made the seat belt rub against my swollen hip.
"I'm so sorry." Michael pleaded, wanting, for me to forgive him.
I gave a little laugh, while I adjusted myself in the seat. "It's not your fault, Mike. Fuck motion and its laws." He laughed showing those perfect teeth of his. I gasped sharply when the skin on my hip slightly rolled, as I sat up, leaving the sharpest pain ripple through my nerves.
"Here, let me help you." Michael twisted the key out of the ignition. He carefully got out of the car, as not to make it move much, and walked towards my side of the jeep. He opened the door, smiling.
"What?" I giggled.
"What?" He tilted his head like a dog would when you called out to it.
"What?" I immediately became confused.
"What?" He continued deliberately trying to confuse me.
"Wait!" I thought about it for a second, "what?" He smiled at his accomplishment. He successfully confused me.
"Nothing, Vera." He laughed as he got closer to the opened door. He helped me move my legs so I can easily get out. To my slight surprise, he carried me out of the seat and planted my feet on the ground. He wrapped my arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around my waist. I slowly limped with him to my front door. The night sky's stars illuminating the pathway. He carried my up the small, porch stairs and left me to try to find my key.
My fists fiddled in my dress pockets and found the silver key after a minute-or-so. I limped, a little contorted, to the door knob.
"Vera..." Michael mumbled.
I turned to flashed over at him as I slid the key in. "Yeah?" My key is new and the doorknob takes a while to cooperate. You have to mess with it for a while.
"I'm going to need to see your hip." He took the key from my hand and tried the door himself.
I looked at him, a little more shocked than happy for his concern. If your wondering why I'm not weirded out by his request, that is because he's studying to be a trauma surgeon/doctor. "Why? I'm fine. It's just a little bump! It'll go away." I joked, but his concern rattled me quite a bit.
He nudged the doorknob and the key twisted the lock open. He turned to face me. "Your limping a certain way." He let the door fly open. "We either go to the campus's clinic or you can let me take a look myself. Pick, because I'm not leaving until I know, for a fact, that it's just a little 'bump' that you have there." He hooked his finger, in the air, quoting the word 'bump' from me. His voice was so stern. Did Bruce seriously throw me that hard against the bumper? Well, I really don't feel like going through the hassle of going to clinic, and Michael is a studying to be a doctor... He could use some real-life practice.
"You can check it out," I sighed. "If you insist..." I managed a perfect wink. He shook his head and chuckled.
I took a step into my home, but fell against the door frame. Michael lunged at me before I could fall any further. That was a really fast reaction...
"Oops... Forgot about the injury." I giggled, but it was muffled by the tangled ache stuck at the back of my throat. He lifted me onto his arms, kicked the door closed with his green shoe, and escorted us both into the living room.
He layed me on the white couch, slowly bit-by-bit, on my good side. He bent down on his knees, so he could inspect my inflamed hip at a closer angle.
"May I?" He signaled to my dress. I nodded, yes. He helped my arch my body off the couch as he gradually lifted my dress. His knuckles grazed my thigh as he lifted and folded the dress on my upper body. He calmly descended my body to the love seat once the dress was completely out of his way. My body faced towards his chest as I layed on my left side.
He examined my hip, but was interrupted by my beige boy shorts. It so happened to cover half of the bruise.
"Your underwear is covering some of it. I'm going to pull this side down." He reassured. He's so sweet...
As his fingers ran along my belly, trying to find their way in the rim of the boy shorts, I spoke softly. "I'm not a patient. I'm not going to sue you for negligence."
He smirked and pulled the side of my panties down, exposing my velvety red, blue, and violet colored bruise. It looked like it was blood that sat in a puddle on my hip. "Every time I press, tell me if you feel it. Okay?" He sounded a lot more uneasy, now that he's seen the deep colors that swam under my skin. He needs to work on that or he's going to scaring his patients, shitless. He pressed his finger into my skin and I, sure in hell, felt it.
"Ahhh!" I bit my pink glossed lip to stop the rest of my misery to ooze out. He let the sting subside and poked again. My hand flew to his broad shoulder and squeezed the hurt I would've yelled. I opened my eyes as the pain went away. I looked at Michael and he placed his finger aiming to his next target area. He poked again.
"Fuck, Michael!" I groaned, yelled, and squeezed at the poor man. I bit my lip even harder. He poked again.....
But nothing. I didn't feel anything, not pain, and not the end of his digit. I looked at where he poked and he poked the maroon part of the bruise.
My eyes twitched to his. "I didn't feel that, Mike." My voice shook at the verge of tears.
"Thank God!" He sighed. He pulled my underwear up and my dress down.
"What?! How is not feeling anything good?" I squealed, completely perturbed.
He sat me down, upright, careful not to afflict any pain. He got off his knees and sat sat on the sofa, right next to me. "In this case," he motioned to my hip, "it's a sign that it's going to heal. Don't worry." He grabbed the lock of hair that came loose from my braid and pulled it behind my ear. I felt my cheeks redden as bright as a buffed cherry.
"Let's put ice on it, though. It will help with the swollen bit." He slapped his knees and thrust himself off the couch.
"Okay." I stayed there, a little dazed, and watched him turn the lights to the kitchen on.
I snapped out of it and grabbed for the television remote. I flipped through the channels and decided on SpongeBob. I heard the ice machine go off and, later, stop. The lights switched off and Michael walked over with a Ziploc bag filled with ice and a little bit of water.
He sat on the sofa filling the cushion next to mine. "Pick up your feet."
I did as he asked, trying not to over think it. He stretched my legs out over his lap and lightly placed the bag of ice on my hip, over the dress.
He looked over to the flashing bright screen, "Mr.Spongebob SquarePants?"
I laughed. "Yes. So?"
"You are so seventeen!" He laughed with me. As we watched t.v., he caressed the violet hand print on my arm and held the bag of ice on my hip.