“I’m not sure I could stop you if you decided you wanted to,” she said lightly. “Let me see how bad it is … ” It was awkward getting out of the car at all; she had to brace almost all her weight on her hands, which hurt, in order to get turned so she could even get the non-wounded ankle out of the car to bear her weight. Stubbornly, not because she didn’t want him to carry her but because she hated being dependent on anyone, she struggled to her feet. Gingerly, leaning on the car, she hobbled around to the trunk, and tried to put weight on that foot.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. She leaned on the trunk of the car and tried to breathe.
“I would never do anything you didn’t want me to do, Summer! I thought you knew me better than that…” He spluttered out indignantly, hurt flickering across his face as he clambered out of the car and moved around to the driver’s side. Ready to help her should she ask or needed it, but it appeared she was refusing his assistance and he ignored how horrible that made him feel. “Summer…Summer, please let me help you? You can yell at me when you’re in your home, okay?”
“I’m not going to yell at you,” she said, through her teeth, clenched against the pain. “I think you’ll have to carry me, though. It’s starting to throb, and if I just try to lean on you you will want to carry me anyway.” It hurt so much now she felt nauseous. “Please?”