I was terrified of what lay beneath Leona’s clothes.
Not that it would change how I felt about her at all, but that I couldn’t bear to see her hurt.
And she was very hurt.
I waited outside the room for close to an hour. Ryuji stomped around the living room, getting increasingly agitated. Obi stood beside me, mute and frowning. Soft murmured voices filtered through our door.
Finally, Willow peeked her head out and handed me a pile of bloodied clothes and used gauze. Max’s suit jacket lay on top. It was definitely his. His tailor always put the same branded stitching on the inside seams.
“Can you get rid of these, please, Cas?” Willow asked.
Speechless, I nodded.
“We’re almost done.”
“Is she…” I wasn’t sure what I was asking, or what I wanted to hear in response. The words hung between us while I shifted from foot to foot. Obi stiffened beside me.
Her face softened. “She will heal. Emotionally…she’s in a kind of shock. You men are her greatest strength and support. Be there for her; be ready when she’s ready. Pain is easier carried when shared.”
I nodded as she retreated inside our room. My hands clenched on the clothes. Max’s jacket. Complicated emotions surged through my chest. I was hot with rage that Max had been close to her at all—and that he’d been such a fucking asshole afterward—but that rigid edge softened at the thought that he’d tried to shield her from whatever had happened.
What made him choose to give her this jacket?
And what had happened that made it necessary?
“I want to incinerate these,” I said to Obi.
“Follow me.”
17
LEONA
Iwas clean.
But still so dirty.
I stared at my hands while I sat on the edge of my bed. Willow cut my nails, then took the time to clean underneath them to get rid of the blood. Scratches and bruises peppered my arms and legs. My chest stung; my ribs twinged with every breath.
I felt like a stranger inside my body.
Like these weren’t my hands. I was just borrowing these arms. Maybe my legs would walk off without me if I wasn’t careful.
“You okay in there?” Willow called from the bathroom. I blinked, listening to the water running while she cleaned her supplies.
“Yeah,” I answered after a few breaths. “Fine.”
I’d answered most of her questions about what happened with each injury on my body, but only the facts. I wasn’t raped, so I didn’t need a pelvic exam. Those marks on my chest were from nails. My concussion was from slamming my head on the ground. My broken ribs were from fists and feet.
I didn’t want to talk about the cut on my face. She could see it just fine.
I only told her what she needed to know to treat me. She’d given me antibiotics and painkillers. She’d bandaged up the worst of my injuries, and covered my eye for now. I wanted Obi to stitch it. The rest of the healing would come with time.
She’d helped me get dressed in my comfiest pajamas after my shower. I’d watched the water run red around me, finally rinsing off Buzz Cut’s blood. I almost threw up. Willow had swooped me out of there as soon as she saw me wobble, and then she’d dried my hair. When I started shivering, she stuffed me into these clothes and sat me on the edge of the bed.
I felt frozen. It wouldn’t go away. My toes curled under my feet.
The sink cut off, and Willow stepped out of the bathroom a few moments later. She sat down on the bed next to me.
