G/T Escape: A Borrower's Dystopian Chapter 10

I scramble back, pushing myself as far from his incoming reach as possible, frantically backpedaling, even though I'm already pressed into his hand at my back. “You're alright,” he says distractedly, not hesitating for a moment. He takes hold of my good leg, pulling me out into his palm on my back. I scramble to sit up, panic heavy on my chest and my entire being trembling with terror. “You're alright, Honey,” he says , glancing up at my face then back at my leg. I pull my good leg away from him and prop myself up on my elbows, craning my neck to watch him like a hawk- though a mouse better describes my position. He pulls back, reaching to his left and pulling a huge magnifying glass on a metal arm out between us.  He pushes it closer to me and I flatten myself into his hand pathetically as he peers through it. His face is smaller through the glass lens. My lungs labor for air and my heart pounds painfully behind my ribs. He glances distractedly at my face then back to my leg, before suddenly double-taking and locking me in his sights.
His mouth is cracked open and his eyes search my face, his lids fluttering as silent thoughts pass through his gaze and his brow vaguely knits. I swallow, his gaze heavy and consuming. I strive to calm my breathing, emotion balling in my throat and tears threatening behind my eyes. I shift my gaze from his; I need to get a hold of myself. I sneak a glance at him, my skin heating and then instantly paling beneath his perusal. His mouth is closed now, his lips pressed together, the cigarette still between them, and his brow furrowed deeply. He snorts softly, yet clearly irritated; smoke puffs out his nostrils, cascading around the magnifying glass and fogging it. He groans, curses, and leans back. Suddenly, he dumps me off his palm and onto the table or desk he'd had his arm on. I scramble back, scanning it, completely cleared and enclosed with a cupboard on both sides and above, a short, white tube-light shining in my eyes.
He plucks the nasty, smoking thing from his lips, roughly shoving back the magnifying glass and waving the smoke away. I can't help but flinch and shrink, certain he's going to hit me. I backpedal until his grey, blue eyes lock onto me, stopping me in my tracks. He pulls his gaze away, annoyance and anger in their depths, as he flattens his lips and leans over his elbows, his chest right up against the edge of the desk. He glances at the desk's wooden surface beside his left elbow, and firmly presses the end of the cigarette into it. The searing reaches my ears, as I watch the smoke rise up from the wood. I swallow; that could easily be me. I grimace, shoving back the feeling of fire on my stomach and the image of melting flesh. Timidly, I raise my stumbling gaze up his towering form- and that's less than half of him. He drops the smothered cigarette where it is, props his arms across the desk in front of him, and eyes me. I falter under his gaze, as the silence draws out between us, my lungs laboring tremulously. “Can you stand?”
I flinch at his voice, even though it's low and calm. I blink at him. He still looks irritated, his lips flat and one brow slightly cocked expectantly. He nods at me, his brow barely rising and his lips vaguely pursed. I glance at the still glowing cigarette beside his elbow and back at his cold gaze. I sit up, climbing to my knees and starting up on my good leg. On my feet, I test my injury, putting some weight on my left leg. It hasn't been hurting, but I still expect to feel a shooting pain up my shin. I gingerly step on my injured leg. Nothing. I feel nothing- no pain whatsoever. “No pain?” he says, startling me back to reality; I watch him warily. He raises his brow at me and I suddenly realize he asked me a question. Panic grips my insides and I shake my head frantically, stepping back. “It can't be broken then-” he mumbles, frowning at my leg, “Come 'ere.” My gut swims, my blood running cold, and my insides shrivel. My knees almost give away and I notice my white-knuckled grip on my shirt, as I wring the fabric in my fists. My mouth hangs open and I want to deny him, but fear of the consequences chases away my voice. He looks at my face and raises his brow out me again, but his expression isn't bored. My core trembles leaving me feeling more vulnerable than ever before. “Come 'ere,” he repeats quietly, gesturing me forward with his head.
I close my mouth, swallowing, I know I need to obey, but my feet won't move. I glance at the smothered and squished cigarette beside him. He sighs irately, leaning back and then leering forward on his elbows, “Look, I'm getting paid to treat your injury- I'm tryin' t' give you the chance to be treated like a person -so give me the same benefit and quit looking at me like I'm a monster- kay?” I blink at him, trying to catch my breath, swimming in confusion. He studies me expectantly, irritation consuming his features, as I stand with trembling knees, lamely before him. “I'm gonna treat that leg a' yours one way or another,” he says dryly, boredom and annoyance dripping from his voice, “so if you'd like your personal space I suggest you hop to it.” Panic seizes me and I stifle a gasp, holding myself, tightly gripping my sleeves and trying to gauge the depth of his threat. I don't want to test him. If he wanted to, he could pick me up now without my consent. I grimace, forcing myself to take a step forward, each step after easier than the last. I keep my eyes on the ground, my insides shrinking as I close the distance between us.
I stop, catching sight of his arm, only a few inches from me- I went too far. I take a couple steps back, my arms clenched tightly over my gut. I draw my gaze slowly up his towering form, but stop halfway up his chest, my stomach turning; I look back to the floor. I can see the hair on his arms, the ligaments and muscles rolling under his skin, as he suddenly moves. I can't help but stumble back a step, before I catch myself and freeze, clenching my eyes shut, my head turned to the right. I pant through my nose, the smell of smoke assailing me, and I peel open my eyes, spotting the smoking cigarette across the desk. I glance in front of me, his arms are off the counter and he's pulled back slightly, but I can see his torso moving, like he's going to stand. I timidly peer up.
I flinch, shrinking back as he reaches over me, pulling down the magnifying glass and angling it above my head. I shy back, craning my neck to see what he's doing. A gasp escapes me, and flail my arms as I stumble and land on my backside. He glances at me through the glass, his brow furrowing. My lungs labor tremulously with each breath and I notice my fisted arm, drawn up over myself cautiously. I pull my gaze down, avoiding his face. I need to calm down and I can't do that if I keep looking at him, leering over me. I close my eyes, trying to imagine I'm not here. I see his hand flat on the desk to my left, he closes the distance between the desk and himself, the muscles in his hand moving at the slight action. He could crush me; I swallow. He reaches for my leg. I flinch, pulling away, but force myself to stop, my heart pounding and my pulse racing. He starts again, slowly, and it's all I can do not to scramble back. I squeeze my eyes shut and I turn away, a strangled whimper escaping me as his fingertips take hold of my bound leg.
His thumb moves over my shin. I hold myself, hyperventilating, as terror clings to my being and panic rakes into my back. My muscles ache and tremble; I realize I'm holding my breath. He suddenly lets go, moving away from the desk. I raise my eyes slightly, watching him as he turns and takes something from the table on the left. He turns back, pulling himself to the desk and I close my eyes, hugging my right leg against my chest and pressing my forehead against my knee. I flinch as his fingers encompass my leg; I clench a fistful of my shirt in my left hand. “Take that junk off your leg.” I jump as his voice shatters the silence. Warily, I draw my gaze up to the magnifying glass above my head. He peers irately through the lens. I pull my gaze down, taking a breath, and begin to strip my leg of the tissue and toothpicks bound to it. Unease floods me at the sight that materializes, as I unwrap my leg. My once limp and twisted ankle is now straight, strong, and completely healthy looking. My stomach turns with confusion and uncertainty. That's not normal; it's been a day.
I gasp, as he suddenly rubs his thumb over my leg. He mumbles under his breath, “There's not even bruising.” I glance up at him through the glass, his brow knit with focus and confusion. His grip tightens forcefully on my leg, igniting panic in my heart, and I jerk in his grasp. He let's my foot slip from his fingers and I pull my knee up, hugging my leg to my chest. My heart races frantically and my fingertips tremble, as I cast a leery and timid glance up at him, startled and shaken. “Did that hurt?” he asks, peering down at me through the lens, “Or did I just scare you?” My insides shrink with fear and humiliation, as I pull my gaze away fearfully, burying face in my knees and turning away, emotion rising in my throat and drawing tears to my eyes. I bite my lip, beginning to tremble with exhaustion and fear. I don't want to admit it, my stomach twisting and swimming at the truth, but I reluctantly shake my head, wiping my eyes across my shoulder to smother the welling tears. “Should'a known the idiot wouldn't have a clue,” he mumbles to himself.
Shoving back from the desk, he leans over and takes a handful of things off the table on the left. He comes back, closing the distance quickly and dumping the articles on the desk, his huge hands on either side of me. I pull back, unnerved suddenly, glancing cautiously up at him, as his face comes back into view through the magnifying glass. I shrink under his gaze but watch him intently, unease flooding over me and adrenaline surging into my veins. He scans the contents of the pile, his eyes glancing back and forth beside me, racing thoughts passing through his focused and narrowed eyes. He glances at my leg then at the pile and back to my leg; finally he looks up at my face. He almost looks caught off guard, having been lost in his thoughts and actions. “It's not broken- obviously- I'm not sure what he thought he did-” he adds, his brow rising, “that is unless you were just faking it.” Anger and indignation rise in my chest at the suggestion- he demolished my leg- that giant- bully- creep- monster- ! Why would I pretend?!
“Faking- he crushed my leg!” the words leave my mouth in a shout before I can think and I instantly regret them, terror flooding me. I slam my mouth shut, my heart racing and aching with uncertainty, as I lower my gaze suddenly. My lungs quiver with each breath, at the silence dragging in the air.