Chapter 13 #2
My gut churned. Because my dead best friend told me to didn’t seem the right confession. “Because I wasn’t there for a friend. I can do this at the very least.”
She tipped her head back. “That’s not fair.”
“Since when is anything fair?” I opened the first aid kit. “Now let’s get your dressing changed.”
She sighed. “Fine.” She scooted back against the headboard. “Humiliating,” she muttered as she opened her legs.
“Better than dead.” I peered at her through my overlong hair. “This is going to hurt.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’ll do my best.” There was no way to actually do this on the bed without some seriously intimate positions. There wasn’t enough room beside the bed to contort myself to change her bandage.
I huffed out an annoyed breath and handed her the kit.
“I can do it.”
“No, I need a better place to put you.” Getting between her thighs on my fucking bed wasn’t optimal to keep what was left of my sanity.
I lifted her off the bed and she yelped, putting her arms around my neck. I settled her against my chest, walking her down the hall before I hefted her over my shoulder for the narrow stairs.
Her thigh brushed my cheek making my whole damn body react.
Christ.
“Who needs dignity,” she said darkly.
I cleared the few stairs and instead of drawing her back down into my arms, I kept marching out through the kitchen and living room to the outer deck. I set her on the large couch.
She winced and scooted back. “You’re such a brute.”
“Get used to it. I’ll be hauling you around for a while until you heal enough to walk.”
“I think I can handle the bandages.”
I knelt in front of her. “Oh, really? Take a look.”
She huffed out a breath and looked down. She turned away from her own wound.
“Yeah, it ain’t pretty. Keep looking out on that horizon, Cilla.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, we all do stuff we don’t want to. That’s life.” I settled my hand on her thigh and pulled at the skin a little to see just how sticky that bandage was. Fuck, her skin was smooth.
And the wound was far up on her thigh. Almost to the....
Nope.
Don’t think about that.
I gritted my teeth. “It’s probably going to hurt. I don’t want to yank it and pull skin off.”
She nodded. “Just do what you have to do.”
I dug through the kit and found the ointment that the doctors recommended. Then I slowly picked at the edges of the filmy bandage. It was wider than the white gauze below and reminded me of tattoo bandages, only it was a helluva lot more industrial. It was slow going to peel the film away.
I tried to concentrate on the bandage and not the fragile skin of her inner thigh.
Finally, I got half of it free. “You need a break?”
“Nope. Just go.” Her voice was tense.
“Okay, just another few minutes.”
She hissed as I hit a spot closer to the apex of her thighs. The warmth of her skin was driving me crazy. Once I got it free, I quickly scrambled to my feet.
“I just need to get a cloth to clean you up.”
And try not to think about the pink of her skin.
I went to the little sink on the counter behind my dining table and concentrated on the steady stream of water over the microfiber towel.
When my fingers were steady, I turned back to her and my muscles locked up in rage.
She’d opened her legs wider, and the angry line of staples was on full display.
“I know they’re ugly.” Tears filmed her huge espresso-colored eyes.
I focused on her face. “It’s not that, Cilla.”
“Then why do you look so disgusted?”
“It’s rage.”
“Oh.” She sniffed and swiped away the tears. “Anyone who ever...” She tipped her head back. “It’s so stupid.”
“It’s not.” I moved back to her and knelt in front of her.
“How do you know it’s not stupid?”
“Because whatever you’re thinking is valid. Period.”
She frowned and her dark lashes were starred with her tears. She was so goddamn beautiful it actually stole my breath. “That’s very therapist coded.”
“Yeah, well I’ve been to one a time or two. Some of the bullshit jargon sticks.” The laugh that bubbled out of her had me looking back up at her. “What’s so funny?”
“Never mind.”
“Suit yourself.”
I gently drew the cloth over the remaining bits of adhesive, concentrating on that rather than my current predicament. Keep it clinical.
She hissed as I got too close to the incision.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She sniffled again.
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
“I know. It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“It’s stupid, remember?”
“Just spit it out. I’ll let you know if it’s stupid, how’s that?”
“Now I have a Frankenstein cut right...” She huffed out a breath. “Who the hell is going to want to go down on a woman with that?”
I choked and sat back. “Not where I thought that was going.”
“I told you it was stupid. I have bigger problems like some psycho that wants to kill me because he didn’t finish the job.”
“Hey.” I caught her hand. “It’s not stupid. And if a man or a woman doesn’t get that this scar is a badge of survival, then they don’t deserve to be there.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
I finished cleaning her and dabbed antiseptic ointment on the gauze before covering the staples and taping it down. “End of conversation.” I stood up. “Now I’m going to make us some food.”
“Okay.”
I gathered the supplies and the kit and took it with me as I stalked back into the kitchen.
The silk of her skin still burning my fingertips.