“No plans with the movie star today, Char?” He knew I hated it. He knew it made me shake and made my insides turn upside down when he called me that, but he did it anyway. Sprawled on out the sofa in my living room, he propped his feet up on the coffee table, which was currently littered with empty beer bottles, and flipped through channels on the TV. I stood in the kitchen, making dinner for the two of us and biting down on my tongue. “It’s been ages since school started, and I still can’t get anywhere around this campus without someone talking about him.”

“You know I would never spend time with someone without your permission.” Despite his thick skull, there was no way he could miss the sarcasm. My temples were already throbbing from the volume of the television, and his continued inability to do anything useful.

Flicking the pot holder off of my hand, I shut the oven door and reached for the boiling pot on top of the flame. “Fuck you, Charley!” His outburst caught me off guard, and I stupidly jerked in reaction. My hand slammed against the handle of the pot, flipping it downward. I jerked out of the way, hitting the white hot burner head, then once again striking the pot, effectively shoving it toward me. It slid, slipped, and landed with echoing clatter against the tile floor.

The spilled food, however, was the last thing on my mind. “Piece of… fffuck!” I tucked my right hand against my chest, as if trying to shield it from the pain. As quickly as my brain could process, I stepped over to the sink and flipped on the cold water, sticking my hand underneath.

The force of the water was enough to send another wave of pain up my arm. I pulled away quickly, looking at my hand for the first time. “Sam!”

“What the fuck did you do?” No playfulness existed in his tone, simply anger and annoyance. “Oh, great,” He stepped into the kitchen, “now double the wait for dinner. You better not expect me to help you clean that up.”

I wanted to smack him. If only my hand didn’t feel like it was on fire. “Would you just stop being an ass for two seconds? I burned my hand.”

Holding it up, I tried to show it to him, but he didn’t even bother to look at me. “If you’re looking for someone to kiss it and make it better, you might want to go find your mother; I’m sure not doing it.” All air shot out of my chest, as if I’d just had the wind knocked out of me. Instantly, thoughts of slapping him turned significantly more violent. He turned and looked at me, a smug smile on his face, and as much as I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, all I could do was stare, cold and hateful. “Something wrong, darling?”

One… two… three shaky, slow breaths before I trusted myself to speak. Even then, it was through gritted teeth. “I just burned my hand, you ass hole. It hurts, and it’s already starting to blister.” There were two solid lines across the back of my hand, one almost directly on top of my wrist. Both had started to bubble up, turning a slight shade of yellow despite the red radiating around it. The pain continually brought a scream to the back of my throat, but I did all I could to hold that it.

His lips slid into a condescending smile. “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“You piece of shit! I burned my hand. Look at it! I know you’re not exactly a knight in shining armor, but a ride to the E.R. would be much appreciated.” The pain was starting to make me dizzy. I wanted to vomit, but I reminded myself to keep breathing. Slow and steady.

“It’s only like a mile away. You can walk.” He turned and started out of the kitchen. Even for him, this was utterly heartless. Tears swam around my eyes, still from the pain, not yet from the frustration. “Besides, I’m too fucked.”

“Then ask one of your friends to take us.”

“Or you can ask your movie star friend to give you a ride. He sees you more often than I do, anyway.”

I was seconds away from jumping up and down to take my focus off the pain. “You go with me to the E.R. because Matt and I have classes together? Because he was cast in the show I’m working on? I can’t even begin to understand how disgustingly arrogant you’ve become.” He only gave an indifferent shrug before exiting the room. The second he was gone, I doubled over and let out a guttural groan. My heart was racing.

Again moving to the sink, I grabbed the nearest towel and ran it under cold water, keeping my burned hand a safe distance away. Stopping the water, I rang the towel out as best I could before gently setting it over my hand. I couldn’t tell if the sensation was good or bad. I stood in the middle of my kitchen, staring at the blank white wall and playing through the conversation that had just happened. There was no doubt in my mind that Matt would pick me up if I called, but I didn’t want to call. Sam would never let it go, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to go out of his way after all the times I’d turned down invitations to grab lunch or just hang out. Walking was going to be my only option.
Not wanting to waste another minute, and resigning to the fact that Sam was truly going to be the heartless excuse for a human being he had just presented himself to be, I slipped through the living room, grabbed my keys and phone from the corner of my dresser and stepped back into the living room.

The way he was sprawled comfortably on the couch made me want to hit him even more. It made me want to call him every vile name I could think of. Instead, I barely even looked at him as I walked out the door. “You better be gone before I get back. And I mean that.” I slammed the door shut behind me before he could say a word.

He was right; the hospital was only about a mile away. It being mid-September, the sun had only just begun to turn orange, but I still only made it a couple blocks before the pain really did start to blind me. I tucked the towel a little more tightly and tried to keep walking.

Another block and I was almost sure I was going to vomit.