“Stop it!” It was a good thing they were at the last stoplight before her apartment complex. “Stop /saying/ that. I’m not — I’m not going to — let me make my own choices. Please.” She closed her hands too tightly on the wheel and flinched, hissing with pain. “Can we get inside and I wash off my hands before you decide I’m just going to — to hunt the wolf?”
Isaac jumped violently and bit down on his bottom lip, nodding and simply deciding to remain silent. As they rolled to a stop outside her home, he reached out and then retracted his hand as she cried out, unsure if she’d want him to touch her or not. “Okay…do…do you want me to carry you?”
“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.