The Deal Breaker (Book II)

Chapter Eight - A Nightmare Near Elm Street

                                                              Chapter Eight

                                                A Nightmare Near Elm Street

“We shouldn’t have done that. I could have caused some further damage…” David repeated for the second time as I snuggled up beside up.

“What we shouldn’t have done was wait a full two weeks of me being here before doing it. You heard the doctor the other day. He said I was as good as new.” I glanced over at the clock, frowning at the bright red numbers. “Also we probably shouldn’t have made you late for work.”

David looked over his shoulder and, too, frowned. “Crap.” He pulled the covers off of him and fumbled around for his pants.

I sat up and pulled the sheets cover my chest as I watched him trip on the end of the bed and nearly smack into the wall. David, so I’ve observed, is the clumsiest person I have ever encountered. He is always smacking into the wall or stubbing his toe. He’s also the biggest baby when it comes to pain. Last week he hit his elbow on the nightstand and asked me to look at it while he iced it down. I’ve been thrown against a wall and managed to limp away with a smirk on my lips. Not that I’m comparing or saying I, err, manlier than him…

“Do you know where my keys are?” David asked as he pulled on a t-shirt.

I slid out of bed, letting the sheets drop behind me. Casually, I grabbed one of his t-shirts and slipped it on as I strolled out of the room. His keys sat next to the coffee pot, which I quickly started. “In here!” I called, shaking the keys in the air loudly.

David stumbled in, literally, and then took the keys from my outstretched hand. “I will see you in the morning.” He kissed my cheek, causing stubble to brush it.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and smiled up at him. “As soon as Matthew lets me, I’m going back to work,” I promised, though it wasn’t entirely the truth.

David’s expression twisted slightly. I thought it had to do with me going back to work, but he proved that theory wrong. “Matthew?”

“Yeah…?” I was confused by his confusion. Did I say his name wrong? Had I originally lied about his name?

“I just thought you called him Mr. Foster. He’s your boss and all.”

The slip up wasn’t big enough for me to worry, but I was puzzled about him being upset. “We’re kind of friends outside of work, I guess.” Lame lie, I know. “It feels wrong to call him Mr. Foster when I’m not working.” Better lie.

He nodded, not convinced. With a stiff nod, he began making his way towards the door.

“David,” I called as I crossed my arms over my chest.

David stopped by the couch and looked at me. “Yeah?”

I’ve handled jealous men before. Once a fight broke out because my at-the-time boyfriend thought I was cheating on him with this scary bouncer and tried to beat the crap out of him. I dumped him shortly after he regained consciousness. It was different with David, though. Most of my past relationships were just for fun. David was different because of our past together. He got me off of drugs, he got me away from alcohol, and he saved me from homelessness. He supported me into getting a job, wanted me to move with him to Virginia, and has stuck by my side after my car accident. Him being jealous, although new, was something I needed more sensitive about. I know, I know. Me, sensitive? That’s outrageous.

“Are you worried about something?” I asked, hinting to his jealousy. People talking in their relationship is supposed to be healthy, right? I owed David a healthy-ish relationship.