Her graceful gait was completely wiped out by the hip spica cast. She looked nice though, my little broken doll. So painfully fragile, and so mouthy. ...“What are you staring at?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. “Your graceful gait.” She stopped and slumped on the crutches to free her hands. Then, she wagged her forefinger at me which she accompanied with a broad smile. Her smile evaporated as she realized that the crutches were about to slip down. She managed to grasp them just in time. I’ve been breathing just fine for thirty-five years. ‘Tell me what you need, sugar.’ He bore into my eyes. How the hell was I supposed to know that? Everything was too real, surreal. It was as if he were somehow reading my brain. I wish he could just figure everything out because I couldn’t breathe again. Then I got scared and wanted to flee. I had to get away from this man, or I’d lose myself completely. I knew this instinctively. My head started spinning. This was happening too fast. I felt. I tiptoed back to my room. Arif left a few minutes later. I heard Anjali coming down the hall. I pretended to be sleeping. Her hand on my shoulder surprised me. “How did you like the show, baby brother?” She wasn’t really mad. She loved to be watched. I figured that out a long time ago. But I played along. “What do you mean, Sis?” I replied. “Don’t be a smart ass.” She spat. “I saw you snaking around in the hall. You little pervert.” She pulled the blanket off. I was naked. She probably thought. All it said was ‘I will be gone for a week or so. Here’s money for whatever you need.’ and 300 bucks underneath the note. Everyone else would probably be cool with that, but I was infuriated. He doesn’t give a shit about me anymore. So the next morning I packed my stuff, called my dad and told him I was staying here for the rest of the summer and charged the ticket to his AmEx. He didnt get my message until I was already here so I was afraid to get in trouble. But it’s whatever. I’m 19. Not.
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