Page 75 of Cain

If they wouldn’t take it, no matter how hard I tried, that would actually put me in an even better position than I’d been in before the wreck.

Even if I only got a grand for the car, that was a grand I could use to pay my lawyer. Or pay for my room for weeks, so everything I did earn went to the attorney fees.

“Monday, you can call your attorney and tell him what happened. He could probably offer to work on non-urgent shit for a week or two until you’re back in commission.”

“It’s all… sounding too good to be true.”

“Because you’re used to shitty things happening,” Cain said, softening the blow with a kiss to my temple. “But it is possible. It’s what is going to happen. So there is no reason for you to be sweating the financial shit right now. You can just… focus on feeling better.”

“In that case, can I have that medicine now?”

“Absolutely. What do you want to drink that with? Coffee? Tea? Something cold? What about food? Did you eat?”

I hadn’t. I’d been running on a small bag of chips I’d bought and eaten while driving.

“Tea and something cold? What do you guys have for leftovers?”

“How about we get something to-go? I’ll send someone out. I’m sure someone out there is hungry. The diner has everything. What kind of comfort food are you in the mood for?”

“Fries. And onion rings. And nuggets.”

“That, I can do. Nothing sweet?”

“Desserts at diners always taste stale.”

“Milkshake?” A little sound escaped me. “Vanilla? Chocolate?”

“Chocolate.”

“Alright. I’ll get that ordered. You get comfortable.”

He climbed out from behind me, then handed me the remote. “We have all the streaming platforms. Put on a comfort show or movie. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he headed out to go get what he needed to comfort and take care of me.

I was ready to pinch myself, to wake up from a great dream and realize I was still trapped in my car, that all of this had just been a vivid, wish-fulfillment dream.

Because I’d never been taken care of.

I mean, I guess there must have been three or four years where my mother did just enough to keep me alive. But my memories of my childhood were making my own school lunches, walking myself to the bus stop, coming home to an empty house to play by myself, cooking ramen in the microwave, and doing my homework. When I was sick, there was medicine. But she stuck it on the counter and told me to figure it out. That she had no time to remember to give me my medicine. There was no chicken noodle soup or warm compresses. Just me, taking care of myself.

I think a part of me, when I met Perry, thought that him being older and wealthy meant that I would have someone to take care of me.

How wrong I’d been on that.

My entire purpose in his life was to take care of him.

Once, I’d somehow caught the flu. I’d been sicker than I’d ever been in my life. Just getting up to go to the bathroom sapped every bit of energy I had. My bones screamed in pain. I could barely stay awake long enough to take medicine and take in fluids, let alone eat. And it was that week that Perry decided we absolutely had to host a dinner party.

That meant I not only had to send out invitations, but scrub every inch of the house to Perry’s exacting standards, order food, set the table, greet guests with a smile, and be a charming host.

While feeling like I was dying.

I’d begged that he let me hire a cleaning service just this one time. To postpone the party. Even going so far as to say it was cruel to make me perform when I was so ill.

The thing was… the cruelty was the purpose.

That was what he wanted.