Page 22 of Shame
“So you make it easier for him?”
He jerks. “Easier how?”
“To beat up people. He just beats them to a pulp, then he calls his good ol’ doc to patch them back up so he can beat them again. Right?”
He stands and clears his throat. “If I quit, he’d kill me, Miss Moreno.”
Now I know why he has aged so unfortunately. His face has the color of ash. He looks beaten.
The knock on the door has us both jerking, then it opens and the matron sticks in her head, a little smile on her face. “You’ve got a visitor.”
My heart races. For a moment I think it’s him. The beast. Then I realize she would hardly be smiling in that case. She looks behind her, cocks her head at someone, then opens the door wider.
Next to her stands the blond Viking. I look at him in shock and sink deeper under the duvet. I am not in shape for visitors!
The doctor clears his throat. “I’m done here. I won’t need to come back for this. I’m putting you on Advil from now on. You don’t need the morphine.” Then he disappears with the matron, who gives me one last glance, looking pleased.
Fear grips my heart. I really do need the morphine.
The door shuts and the Viking and I are left alone. Something is different about him. He’s got an edge to his face when before he had such innocent, beautiful features.
“Can I come in?”
“You’re already in.”
He laughs and little dimples appear in his cheeks. “True. Can I sit? Is it okay?”
“I look terrible.”
“I know.” He carefully sits on the edge of the chair that has been occupied day and night by girls sitting guard.
“Well, thanks.”
“How are you holding up?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I—I’ve been thinking about you. Non-stop actually.”
“Why?”
He looks at his lap. “Do you want me to go? Maybe this was a bad idea?”
I reach for him, putting my hand on his. “No. I’m sorry. Don’t go.”
We both stare at the white, fresh bandage.
“It didn’t go very well,” I mumble.
He knows what I’m talking about. Putting his other hand over mine, warm, strong, clean, he lets his eyes roam my face. “No, it didn’t. Why did he do this?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything. What’s the weather like?”
He laughs again. “You wanna talk about the weather?”
