Hidden in Sheridan (Tainted Series: Book 1)

Moon: YOUNG

Levi - Complete with mismatched socks, I stumble out of my room and into the hallway bathroom. I pull a brown and red plaid shirt over my marvel character t-shirt. Ironman is always a favorite but the superhero boost somehow makes me feel stronger.

I pause to flash ‘mirror me’ a look of approval quickly take in my whole condition. My face is slightly flushed, eyes puffy from lack of sleep, but all in all I appear normal. I turn sharply to leave and my arm bumps against my bandaged side causing me to moan like an old man with back problems.

Pressed for time, I clinch my jaw and push through the pain. I run down the narrow hall, again bumping into the walls until I find my footing at the stairs.

For the third time, my mother calls from the kitchen. Her voice already irritated that I was still in bed after seven o’clock. I use my long stride to skip steps down as normal, forgetting that this time I have a very good reason not to. I was quickly reminded of that reason the moment my feet hit the bottom floor.

A jolt of pain shoots straight from my side, so intense it branches out to all ends of my body, leaving my eyes watering. I buckle forward, creating another painful sensation across my stomach which forces me to straighten my back again.

“Nope. No bending. Bending is bad.” I wheeze, as I brush the tears from the corner of my eyes. My deep breaths send white spots across my vision and I amend my previous statement, “Breathing bad too. Got it. No more breathing.”

“Levi! Wake up. I have to go.”

“I’m here!” I say, entering the kitchen with a forced a perfect smile to hide the pain. I found my mother sitting at the kitchen table, in full State Trooper Uniform. Her dark green collared shirt with patches on both shoulders and a star above her left pocket. Her tie in a perfect knot as well and her large brimmed hat sitting on the table beside her plate of toast and coffee. Her black curly hair is pulled back in a tight bun low above her neck. Not a single hair out of place, leaving a clear view of her striking facial features. The high cheekbones and perfectly sculpted eyebrows. She has warm mocha eyes that match my own but she has highlighted them with light color. The gentle hint of makeup across her lips are set in a firm look as she reads the news across the blue glow of her iPhone.

My mother is rough and tough but she also has a feminine side to her. She loves fashion, and jewelry, in fact, I’ve seen her dress up and she is knock out gorgeous. Ten times more striking than any Black American Actress on the red carpet. Don’t tell her I said that though. I appreciate how she works hard to match her look with her job. I think it gives her more confidence.

“Oh,” She quirked an eyebrow at my appearance, I was sure to carefully push out my chest to show off my Ironman logo. She smirked then glances at the cheap plastic clock above the sink. “Okay. We have five minutes extra. I only had to threaten you three times, looks like you’re improving.”

“It was only three?” I huff, reaching over her, I snatch my own piece of toast, a knife and I open the raspberry-jam jar.

“How do you feel today?” She asks motioning to my concealed injury.

My mother hadn’t been a State Trooper for long. Before that she had been a local traffic cop. Basically all my life she’s been in law enforcement which means she is used to dealing with car accident victims, and compared to my little bite, she has seen much worse. Which is why she offers no sympathy to my current condition.

“You know,” I protest, “Most parents would insist their child rest the day after a near death situation. Not get out of the house as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, that was two days ago and I was very sympathetic yesterday. We both stayed home to make sure you didn’t die. Today however, I have to go to work and you have plans too.” She smiles without showing her teeth.

“Yes, that’s life,” I state knowing my own mother’s ’suck it up’ work ethic.

“But, for the next five minutes we can sit and talk. Bonus to being ready on time.” She smirks and motions for me to sit in the chair beside her. I take the chance to sit and the chair creaks under my weight. “You also were fully aware that death trap of a Bronco was going to get you in accident someday.”

“Wendy kept me safe.” I insist, taking a bite.

“Yes, she did and had you stayed inside the car, instead of going out to see what wild animal hit your precious car, you wouldn’t have been bitten.” She looks up at me, the slice of toast hanging out of my mouth. “You do have less color today. Did your fever come back?”

“You mean I’m white?” I joke, my mouth full of bread and Jam.

“Shut up.”

I don’t like seeing her worry. She always had so much to worry about. Not only does she have a tough job, she is a single parent with a teenage boy, and that teenage boy is me. I try to make life easier for her but, let’s face it, I’m not very good at it.

She turns in her chair, fully facing me her fingers twitching for me to move closer, “Okay. Let’s see it.” She says.

“I’m fine mom. I barely feel it.” As I speak my mother reaches over and pokes dead center of my bandage which sends small daggers of pain shooting across my side. “OW! Mom! Really?”

She shrugs with her all knowing smile painted across her face until I pull up my shirt. The white tape across the surface had already turned yellow. She peals it back and I wince as the sticky part pulls the little at my skin. She uncovers the front part of the bite. It’s not a pretty sight, there’s red and something yellow and sticky around the holes. I force my gaze upwards to avoid looking at it. She pokes around it again, and I struggle not to step back.

“It’s really bruised,” she says thoughtfully and I instantly realize what she’s thinking.

“It’s going to look worse before it gets better.” I say carefully pressing the tape back down and covering it with my shirt. “I was joking about staying home, Mom. You have work, I’m going out. I’m going to be great. Back to normal in no time.”

She studies my face for a moment before reaching over and playfully poking the spot again. I groan, a bit more exaggerated than necessary, and she turns back to her coffee with a playful grin. “You said you could barely feel it.” She mocks. The pain dulls and I fill an empty glass with orange juice while I listen to her talk. “Mr. Watson asked if you would stop by to look at Wendy today. You might even be able to bring her home. You thank him. He didn’t have to tow her to his shop, nor does he have to fix her. Wendy would make very nice roadside art.”

“Watson has a great appreciation for classic cars.” I gloat, she shoots me a dark look, “Mr. Watson, has a great appreciation for classic cars.” I correct myself for her. “I’ll hitch a ride to his shop after practice today. We’re barrel racing today.”

“We?” She smirks. “I love how you’ve never been on a horse and yet you think they benefit from having you at their practices.”

“The school, mom. ‘We’ as in the school.”

“Right.” She smirks again fully amused with teasing her son. “Get over to the shop as quickly as you can after. Do you need a ride?”

“To the school?” I ask and she nods, “Can I turn on the siren?”

She took a final sip of her coffee, pushes the chair away from the table. “No.”

“The lights?”

“Leaving now,” Hat tucked under her arm, she waves walking toward the front door.

I take one more big swig of juice, shove a wad of toast into my cheeks, then rush after her.

CHAPTER END: