27. Chapter 27 - Rosalyn
My heart races as I use the table to help me stand. Pain ripples through my body to the point I don’t know if I can. Maybe I should take him up on that offer for a stiffer drink?
When I wobble, his palms come up ready to catch me.
“Everything is stiff,” I groan, tugging the blanket around. “Can you, I mean, um, will you hold this up so I can.”
“Of course.” He tugs up the fabric between us, the shield I so desperately need.
Letting my loose bra fall down my arms, I shimmy my t-shirt carefully over my head.
Fuck, my elbow is killing me. I’m glad it isn’t broken. It hurts more than my knee.
With a hard swallow, I unbutton my pants, pushing them down my thighs.
I just want him to…I don’t know. Accept me? Touch my scars without cringing? I hate seeing the revulsion they caused in his eyes.
It makes me feel less. I don’t want to be that to him.
He’s the first person who treats me like a person.
When I sit in only my panties with my pants around my ankles, I can’t stop the shiver of panic that makes my teeth chatter.
With a shaky palm, I lower the blanket he has stretched between his hands to tug it over my bare lap.
“I should warn you,” I stammer, focusing intently on a chipped piece of formica in the kitchen so I don’t have to look at him. “My legs look the same.”
His hot breath washes over me with his exhale. “I thought they would.” He drops his gaze, gesturing with two fingers. “Okay, show me the bad one so you can get comfortable.”
My sore knee slips out the side, revealing a rug burn that runs the length from the middle of my calf to my femur. Blood still oozes from it, but even as he gently cleans it, I can see there isn’t any sort of deep wound.
That makes me feel a little better. I was worried there’d be something there needing stitches since it hurts almost as bad as my side.
“You got pretty lucky,” he mutters, stretching out a strip of medical tape to fasten some gauze down. “This could have been much worse.”
“I know. He threatened to cut me up into pieces and burn my body.” My words tumble out matter-of-factly. They don’t even register as being horrible, I’m so used to hearing stuff like that from Eli.
But the pale set of Cade’s cheeks and the disapproving growl he makes deep in his chest tells me it isn’t as normal as it seems.
It feels strange when his fingers press along the inside of my thigh as he wipes the last of the dried blood. His touch sends a warm line up into my hip in such a strange, new way I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be uncomfortable. I don’t think I am? I kinda like it?
Is that wrong?
“Let me see the other, then we’re done.” He sits back, tossing a quick swallow from his beer down as I shift the blanket.
Only the old white scars show with a faint red tone over my joint, nothing drastic.
“Do you have sweats in your tiny bag?” He points at the container that’s barely the size of a shoebox.
Shaking my head, I toe it away with my foot. “Just another pair of jeans, another shirt, and some underwear.” My eyes squeeze shut. He’s going to think I’m so stupid. “I forgot to grab my pajamas.”
His palm patting my good knee startles me to look at him. “It’s fine, Ros. Let me grab some of mine. Then we’ll sit down and order some stuff online.” He grunts when he stands, his left leg stiff and straight under him for the first couple of steps.
I’m already so used to seeing his scars, I forget they’re there.
He’s more like me than anyone else I’ve ever met. He carries the marks of a punishment he didn’t deserve too.
Maybe he’s the only one who can look past mine?
“Feet up.” He holds the waistband wide until I thread my toes into the holes, then he gently feeds the ends up until my heels pop past the elastic. “Good girl,” he murmurs, raising the blanket off my lap between us like a wall.
I didn’t even have to ask.
Slowly, I rise and pull the baggy pants up over my hips and pull the string far enough to cinch them.
I’m swimming in them, but they’re warm.
“All set?” His voice drifts through the thin barricade.
“Yes, thanks.” My strength saps almost instantly as the weight of my emotions dumps out of me.
The hardest part is over. He saw me. And as the blanket lowers, there’s a soft tinge of sadness in his gaze.
Or is it pity?
“Here, take these.” He pinches a few tiny pills between his callused fingers. “They’re just Advil, but will help with the swelling.” He squints as the corner of his mouth drops. “You’re gonna be sore as shit tomorrow. Good thing we don’t have any fancy plans for Christmas.”
“We never did anything for the holidays after my parents died.” I let him help me stand and lead me towards the bedroom. “Don’t you want to visit your family? You can show them the picture.”
I want something good to come out of this instead of it just being about me making shitty choices.
He pulls the covers back on the bed and steps aside. “Not sure,” he grunts. “It’ll be easier to just have a one on one with Mason first. Having everyone there sounds…overwhelming after this much time.”
That part I can understand more than he realizes.
Tucking my toes between the sheets, our fingers brush when he helps me pull the thick comforter up.
I feel guilty being so small in a big bed, while he’s so much larger than the loveseat. “We should switch sleeping spots,” I say as a yawn takes over.
He pauses near the end of the mattress, then reaches down to cover my foot poking up under the duvet. “I’m fine, Ros. You need to rest.”
I’m not sure why, but that little touch before he turns away is more comforting than all of the patching up he did.