“I’ll ponytail it. It can wait.” She looks right at the spot where Dad threw the fruit and I flush with embarrassment. Do I have food in my hair? After everything we’ve done today, nobody mentioned it? I shoot Dax an Aiden a fiery glare.
“There are bruises on her scalp. It’ll probably be best to wait a while,” Aiden agrees, clueing me in on the nurse’s staring.
I’d forgot about potential bruising. I agree to the nurse’s suggestion if only to get the ball rolling. I really want that shower.
“Okay, thank you.” I hold out my hands and let the nurse bathe them in a blue solution with swabs. She works quickly and efficiently, turning them this way and that way and humming her diagnosis in little bursts of disapproving huffs.
“You rinsed well, I see. The burns are not as bad as they look. You mostly have surface damage. Luckily, you got to them before the chemicals reached the lower layers of the epidermis and caused nerve damage. They don’t seem to give you much discomfort.”
I clearly have her fooled. The problem with catching regular beatings is that you’realwayshurting. Most people get hurt and rest; hand their responsibilities to someone else for a while. People in situations like mine, well, they don’t get to stop. There are always things to be done. So you get up, smile through the pain, and fake being well.
People like me fake normality so well, you’d never know the sheer agony of our lives.
I do it for the kids, for my mum who I never want to worry, for my classes lest they send me home, for Charlie and Carlo lest they interfere, and for my dad…so I don’t provoke his guilt or spite or whatever makes him want to hit me again.
I’m hurting, in so many ways, but it’s part of my self-preservation not to show it.
Despite the tirade in my head. I keep my mouth shut.
“I’ll recommend a good antibacterial cream. Wrap them for a couple of days but keep the dressings clean. And try to avoid using any chemicals that might irritate. Be careful of extreme temperatures too. If you experience headaches or nausea, come straight back in. You’ve been incredibly lucky, Juliet, you probably won’t even scar.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” I say with a smile and watch her seal the ends of the dressings with surgical tape. Next, she produces a pair of loose plastic gloves and helps put them on before taping those at the wrists.
“There you go. All ready for your shower.” She pats my leg gently and I thank her again.
“Will you be okay in there on your own?” Dax asks.
I want to tease him and ask if he’s suggesting he joins me, but he’s still keeping his distance, so I mutter, “I’ll be fine,” instead.
Aiden strides across the room and lifts the bag of clothing, taking it into the bathroom. He puts it on the counter and rolls up his sleeve. Just as I’m about to ask what he thinks he’s doing; he reaches into the shower and turns the control for me. Testing the temperature and setting the dials, he shakes off his arm and smiles.
“Don’t think I didn’t see that naughty idea run through your mind, Jules,” he whispers as me passes me. “We’re both truly sorry we can’t help you in your time of need,” he teases in his low, throaty voice.
“You are both horrible teases. I see your games. I’m not sure I want to play.”
“And yet you slipped into role so easily this evening. Should we add the wordchameleonto your list of talents?”
“Natural born survivor,” I remind him. “Dax acted formal, I just followed along. Problem?”
His smile is genuine if a little calculating. “Not at all. I’m incredibly impressed.” He takes a long moment to stare at my face before firming his lips into a neutral expression and becoming all business again. “There’s a new phone in the bag. We’ve arranged it so the old phone will connect straight to your new one, in case the kids call. Shower, Tiger. We’ll fill you in on all the rest as soon as we ditch this place.” He exits and I flip the lock behind him, forcing myself to take a couple of deep breaths.
I’m grateful. More than I can show, but I’m confused too.
What are they both playing at? I’m like a ball batted between the two of them. I can’t figure out if their interest is genuine or if it’s a special kind of cruelty. A bet perhaps? Who can win me over first? I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want to play. I need assurances, not games. I’ve lived too long on my nerves already.
The shower is perfect. I stay under the spray for too long. My muscles relax and my bones revert to jelly. My eyes close before I’ve even turned off the spray. I know I need to dress and go back outside, but I also need to sleep. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay on my feet.
I dress in the cargo pants and white-long-sleeved t-shirt Dax’s men provide and marvel that they got my sizes right. Well, they’d normally be spot on, but I’ve lost some weight over the last few days because I have to yank on the drawstring waist and tie a little tighter than normal to secure them. I can feel their expense in the way the fabric caresses my skin. Only the best cottons feel like silk. My new underwear is the same, soft, and comforting like fingertips dancing across my skin.
I tuck my dirty clothes into the empty bag and slide my new phone into one of the leg pockets on my trousers after switching it to vibrate only. I check my hair and lay my hand on the door lock.
Am I sucking in the energy around me or am I just gathering up what’s left inside me? Whichever it is, it takes all of my breath and focus before I finally feel ready to face the world again.
When I exit, Dax and Aiden are outside the suite. They have three more guards gathered around them all with their heads bowed and listening intently to whatever Dax is telling them. I don’t feel like interrupting, so I slip into the bedroom and lay across the mattress. I liquefy; melting into the memory foam and becoming one with the fabric.
I pretend not to hear the two men enter the room or the conversation they have over my supposedly sleeping form.
“I wondered how long it would take,” Dax whispers.
