Free Imperfect Bastard by Pamela Ann Page A

he helped me into a cab with the use of a crutch, my body was in such an elevated state euphoria and sleepiness that I was going in and out of consciousness.
    “Let me carry you upstairs,” Drew kindly offered after the cab dropped us outside the apartment building.
    “Over my dead fucking body. I am capable of walking.” Albeit, I would be slower than usual, but I could very well function. The less contact with him, the better. I might have bruised my ankle, but I surely hadn’t lost my mind… yet. While that was still thriving and intact, I would rather not depend on him for anything. It was the only way I could keep him at bay.
    Our journey from the entrance of the building to the 8 th floor was done at a snail’s pace, but I was adamant to stand my ground, undoubtedly quite high from the drugs given to me.
    “Did you have anything to eat?” he asked the moment we entered the door, regarding me rather too closely for comfort.
    Acting unaffected by his presence, I merely shook my head before releasing a casual sigh. “I had a sandwich for lunch.”
    “That’s it?” He glared at me, obviously displeased that I had been able to function by supplying my body with a mere sandwich.
    “Yeah.” Why was he so appalled? Not only was a sandwich convenient and easy to make, they were available everywhere. What was his deal?
    “Okay, let’s get you fed first because you’re going to take your medication before you sleep.”
    I shook my head. The thought of sitting and eating made me gag a little. Sleep, on the other hand, I needed.
    “Just give me cereal or something. Nothing too heavy. I’m ready to crash.” Besides, I had already taken up much of his time by him coming to my rescue. Fussing over me was not needed. I could take care of myself.
    My retort didn’t go down well with him. Instead of having a normal reaction, he surprised me by taking my crutches away before plucking me up as though I were weightless then heading for the kitchen. Upon reaching the dining table, he used his left foot to push free the chair before depositing my stubborn self on it.
    “Sit down, Chloe. I won’t feed you generic crap. You’ve got to eat. I’m not going to watch you starve yourself to death just so you can maintain this figure.”
    WTF! That was uncalled for!
    “I’m not starving myself! What do you expect from me? Just because I don’t stuff my face with the nearest cake, it doesn’t mean I’m not eating. You’re being an idiot. Besides, I don’t want you to cook. I’m fine.”
    He immediately shut the fridge and gave me a hardened stare. “You have something against my cooking for you? You used to love it. I thought you’d like that veggie soup Nana used to make.”
    It was my favorite, and he knew that. I appreciated his effort, but I just didn’t want to get hurt. The more I spent time with him, the more I questioned myself, an indication that my emotions were too unstable to be trusted where he was concerned.
    “Drew, please, my body aches. Arguing with you is pointless.” The drugs made me feel much better. I knew by tomorrow, though, I would be singing a different tune.
    “Fine,” he muttered before spinning on his heels and hunting down a bowl and spoon. “Lucky Charms, okay?”
    He knew I loved that little green leprechaun dude and the dried up cute marshmallows. “Yes, that’ll do. Thanks.”
    It took him a few minutes to stride over and carefully place the bowl in front me. He then took the chair to my right before leaning against the chair, effortlessly cool and laid back, watching me as if I were some reality show unfolding before his eyes. If it hadn’t been for his phone ringing so he had to stroll away toward the other end of the flat to get it, I would have melted from the force of simply having him there, scrutinizing me while I ate.
    Minding myself, I tried to muster enough appetite to finish half of the cereal he had given me. He had filled it to the top, which was such a waste to