The Curative - 2. Chapter 2

“Mason! Open the door!” I yelled, desperately trying not to drop the loads of grocery bags I had valiantly wrapped around my arms with a selfish wish to not make a return trip out into the burning heat. Bailey yipped at my feet, wagging her tail and holding her one little item happily between her teeth. I heard an answering bark inside, and the door swung open. I stumbled into the house and towards the kitchen.

“Close the door, goddamnit!” Logan was being his usual cranky self, obviously.

The door clicked shut as Mason obeyed, and I heard the squeaking of Logan’s wheelchair as he followed me into the kitchen. I hurriedly began stuffing the groceries into the cupboards.

“Here, gimme the fridge stuff.” He grabbed a bag out of my hand and snorted at the contents. Pudding and popsicles. “You’re gonna get fat, boy.”

I blushed and started moving faster, throwing everything into random lower drawers.

“Hey, calm down. Here’s the money for the groceries.” He slapped a wad of bills down on the counter and started to roll out of the room.

“I-I can’t t-take that…” I said it as quietly as I could, but he still jerked to a stop and rolled back towards me.

“Why the hell not?” He crossed his arms and glared at me.

“M-most of it was just my prescriptions anyways…” I fidgeted with the last item, which unfortunately belonged in the cupboard directly behind him.

“Listen kid, if you’re trying to be all high and mighty ‘cause I’m a fucking cripple, then you can get the hell out. It’s only been two weeks, I don’t mind kicking you out on your ass.”

“N-no! I swear, here l-look at the bill, it’s all p-pretty much mine.” I yanked the receipt out of my pocket and shoved it at him, my hand shaking. He grabbed it and looked it over, whistling when he saw the total.

Oh no… How stupid could I get?

“Shit kid, what d’ya need all these pills for?” He glanced up at me, then back down at the bill, murmuring.

I made a grab for the slip of paper, but he whipped it away and tucked it in his pocket.

“G-give it b-back!”

“Not till you tell me what all those are for. I’ll look it up if you don’t. If you’re crazy or somethin’ you shoulda told me before I let you move in here.”

“I’m not crazy!” I yelled and slammed the box of pop-tarts down on the counter. I turned on my heel and booked it for the stairs, nearly falling over my feet on the stairs trying to get to my room. I slammed through my bedroom to the bathroom and the medicine cabinet. Scrambling through all of the bottles and little boxes, I finally found the tube I was looking for. My hands shook violently as I tried to get the top off, and I barely managed to get two pills out without dropping the container. I dry swallowed and sunk back against the bathroom door, trying to calm down.

Eventually the meds took effect and when I finally stopped shaking enough to make it safely to my bed; I crawled into it and fell promptly asleep.

I awoke a few hours later to the sound of scratching at the door. Oh, Bailey. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and shuffled over to open it.

“I hear you! Get up here, boy!”

Holy shit, did he have superhuman ears?

“I said get up here!” He bellowed out again.

I shrugged down at Bailey, who yipped happily and bounded up the stairs.

Traitor.

I made my way up as slowly as possible. Hand on the railing, one step at a time. I guess I took long enough that Logan got frustrated, because he wheeled over to wait for me at the top of the stairs, frowning disapprovingly.

When I finally made it to the top, he glared at me for a second longer before yanking me down onto his lap and taking off for the living room.

“Hey! W-what!”

“Shut up, kid. Took too long.”

As soon as we hit the living room rug, he shoved me off his lap and started talking.

“You piss me off. First you come in here, ask to live in my house with your goddamn female dog, then you stick down in your room all the goddamn time, and then when you finally manage to speak to me without chokin’ up your words, you run outta here like a bat outta hell.” He huffed and set his jaw, daring me to talk back.

I paled and scrambled to get up on the couch. “I-I’m sorry. Di-did you look up my p-prescriptions?”

He huffed again, scowling, then abruptly looked away.

“No. And I ain’t gonna.”

Phew. A huge wave of relief blew through me and I sagged into the couch.

“But if you start doin’ any crazy stuff, I won’t hesitate to pull that fuckin’ receipt out and look you up, got it?” He growled.

I nodded enthusiastically and tried to smile at him.

“Thank you.”

He scowled again and grabbed the remote. I made to get up, but his hand whipped out and shoved me back down.

“Siddown. We’re gonna watch football. The Texans are on tonight.”

I couldn’t help groaning and throwing my head back against the pillows. I hated football.

The bastard snickered.