Chapter Eleven #2
“I’ve been called worse,” Maddie snickers, crunching into the sucker loud enough that it sounds like her teeth crack.
Evidently not, when she continues, “That dickhole deserves every series of unfortunate events that happens to him. If they just so happen to be orchestrated by me or three other women who think much like myself, then those are simply the cards his life has dealt. You reap what you sow and all that, right?”
I’m nodding as I lean closer, wincing when I realize how long the cut on her forehead actually is, and mutter, “I mean, if he cheated, more fool him. If you need someone to tattoo a dick on his forehead, then I’m happy to help.”
“Don’t give her ideas,” Bax chimes, sounding way too amused.
I shrug. “Fine. How about you get Lady Satan here another sucker? This is going to blow.”
“Trust me, I’ve had stitches more times than I’ve had mac and cheese. This is nothing new to me,” she tries to assure, but it does the opposite, my frown forming as I peer down at her.
“Hurt yourself a lot?” I wonder, a weird collage of emotions running through me with all the speed of a freight train, mainly a flush of anger that she’s been hurt enough to be used to getting stitched up.
With a careless shrug, she admits, “I was a reckless kid growing up, and that followed me into adulthood. I’m just careless with my safety sometimes, and other times I’m just a plain old klutz.
My parents always tell me I wasn’t born with a rational fear of anything, and that causes accidents.
They’re not wrong, but I’ll never tell them that.
After all, they’re the ones who raised me the way I am. If anyone is to blame, it’s them.”
All of the anger inside me flees just as fast as it came, and I almost slouch with relief that Mads hasn’t suffered in any way similar to me.
Amused now, I shake my head, reaching for the hand loosely clenching my shirt and tightening her hold. “Well, you’re going to want to hold on tight. I don’t have anesthetic, so you’re going to have to either grit your teeth through it or drown yourself in alcohol. Which would you prefer?”
Her eyes dart down to the bottle of gin I gathered, and her nose wrinkles adorably. “Got anything better? Gin makes me sick.”
Not a moment later, Baxter comes back with a new cherry-flavored sucker and an unopened bottle of whiskey, wiggling it at her in offering. “This better?”
Without answering, Maddie holds her hand out and wiggles her fingers, accepting the bottle as soon as Bax uncaps it.
My eyes almost bulge out of my fucking head when she sits up slightly and downs three whole mouthfuls without a single cringe.
She shocks me further when she pulls the bottle away, licks her lips, and admires the bottle with a small appreciative nod, right before she takes three more mouthfuls.
“Okay, I’m ready. Fix me, needle man,” she demands, not a single tremor in her voice that tells me this really isn’t anything new to her.
What the hell kind of shit has she gotten into in her short life that not even taking a needle to the forehead scares her?
Hell, I think I’m more scared for her, and I’m an expert with a needle and thread.
I don’t bother analyzing why that is, certain I already know the answer but refusing to acknowledge it.
Sharing a look with Baxter, and then Caiden when he comes back to the living room with a fresh pair of sweats, I send them a silent plea to keep her calm just in case and prepare the suture kit.
Bax offers her the sucker, which she accepts with childlike giddiness, popping it in her mouth with a little hum before she settles and tightens her hand on my shirt, pressing a little harder against my back as though she’s offering me a hug of comfort.
“All right, brace yourself,” I announce, hovering over Maddie’s head and watching for her reaction. When she only blinks owlishly at me, not an ounce of fear showing on her face, I blow out my own steadying breath and go to work.
I receive only a slight wince and wrinkling of the nose when I pierce her skin with the suture needle, her hand flexing against my back only once before she relaxes once more.
I check on her, finding her watching Caid as he fiddles with his phone.
Pretty sure I hear a camera shutter, and I only glance up once to find Ryan standing nearby with his phone in hand, taking photos of the scene his sleepy bedhead has stumbled on.
“I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m pretty sure it’s a dream or something, but I figured I’d take a photo just to be sure,” he explains, right before he almost stumbles into the kitchen in only a pair of sleep shorts, a loose-fitting white tee, and his hair a sleep-rumpled mess.
Ignoring him, I turn back to my patient, tugging the thread through her pierced skin as gently as I can manage.
Surprisingly, Maddie isn’t fazed, her eyes now firmly planted on Caiden’s phone that he’s turned toward her.
I recognize the intro to Game of Thrones instantly, and an actual smile breaks free as I stab the needle through Maddie’s flesh once more and all she does is sing the theme song under her breath.
Sure enough, she doesn’t react at all after the first run-through, making her the best patient I’ve ever stitched up in all my twenty-eight years of life.
I work through every stitch while she sucks on her sucker, watches the show Caiden is more than happy to play on his phone for her, and occasionally pauses to take a sip of whiskey Baxter keeps nudging toward her.
Ryan is the only one who keeps himself occupied, eating cereal at the island counter while watching the scene before him.
I’m sure it looks as ridiculous as it feels.
By the time I’m done with the last stitch, tying it with expert precision and snipping the thread, Madison has tipped the scales into wasted.
As she giggles over a particularly gruesome scene where some poor guy gets shot by an arrow while he’s sitting on the toilet by none other than his own son, making me worry for her mental state more now than I had before, it becomes increasingly obvious that she’s three sheets to the wind.
“All right, Captain Giggleshits. Let’s get you home,” Caiden snickers, turning the show off and moving back enough to give Maddie space to sit upright. She’s a little unsteady, Caid’s and my hands going to her back to keep her upright while she giggles even harder.
Seeing that Caid has her safely, Maddie’s eyes widen right before she reaches for his phone, so I leave them to it before I go about cleaning up the mess left over.
I’m pretty sure I hear a camera shutter sound followed closely by Caiden’s snickers, but I pay more attention to discarding the sutures, used gauze, and wrappers that now lie on the floor and couch.
Just as I’m done, I lift myself from the floor, closing the first-aid kit just as Madison sighs.
I look over and watch her prod around the Band-Aid I’ve placed over the stitches.
She doesn’t flinch, only nods as though she’s impressed, and I ignore the satisfaction that forms in my chest at that look.
“What a day,” she laughs, and I’m about to leave just as the drama queen scares ten years off my life when her eyes roll into the back of her head and she goes completely limp, falling back against the couch with a bounce.
“Oh my God,” Caid breathes, sounding just as stunned as I feel. This girl went through taking a hockey stick to the forehead and stitches without anesthetic, but it’s the alcohol that’s bested her.
Shutting my eyes for a long moment, fighting against the amusement bubbling in my chest, I shake my head before gesturing to Mads. “Bax, think you can take her to her apartment?”
“Easily,” he agrees readily, scooping the famous photographer off our couch and into his arms just as easily as he could pick up a sack of potatoes.
I catch Caiden’s frown as he complains, “I could have done it.”
“Let it go, man,” Ryan laughs, washing the small number of dishes in the sink, only turning to watch Bax carry Maddie carefully out of our apartment.
Like a bunch of idiots, we all grow silent the moment our door closes, each one of us listening for the sound of Maddie’s door opening and closing before the very faint sound of Baxter’s footsteps travels through the ceiling separating our apartments.
Hell, I’m holding my breath, worried I might miss something.
It’s only then I realize I’m acting stupid, so I blow out the air trapped in my lungs slowly before muttering, “I’m going to have a shower. Today has been weird.”
I don’t wait for a reply, throwing the garbage in the trash can before ditching Ryan and Caid. The last thing I hear before I go is Caiden petulantly muttering, “My muscles are just as good as that asshole’s, damn it.”
I’m grinning as I walk into the bathroom, shaking my head at the absolute chaos today has been.