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Beyond that was the living space that featured an unexpected yellow sectional. Yellow. I found I liked that a lot more than I would have if he had a typical leather couch or something like that.
The wall opposite the sectional featured a long console table with a massive TV on top of it.
“Pretty self-explanatory,” he said, waving around. “Bathroom is behind the TV. Across from that,” he waved, “is a walk-in closet. And that’s it. I got a feeling I know the answer, but my ma would box my ears if I didn’t offer to give you the bed.”
I glanced over at the steep, backless stairs.
“God no,” I said, my ribs aching at the idea of climbing them. Besides, I didn’t think Storm would be willing to go up those steps.
“Figured. The couch is comfortable as fuck, though. Well, as comfortable as you’re going to be able to get with those ribs anyway.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you should go into medicine with that killer bedside manner?” I asked, getting a little lip twitch out of him.
“I’ll grab some shit to make up the couch,” he said, making his way toward the walk-in closet while I inched my way toward the bathroom.
If there was one thing I could say about this Silvano Costa guy, it was that he was neat.
It hadn’t been the first thing I noticed, since his place was so pretty. But as I moved around, and especially as I went into the bathroom, I realized he kept this place almost meticulously clean. I couldn’t find a speck of dirt anywhere.
The bathroom was sleek and modern with more exposed brick walls, and one of those shower niches with a three-quarter glass wall you could just step behind. The tile inside was a deep gray, as was the sink cabinet.
“Ugh,” I grumbled at my reflection. I’d caught glimpses of myself in the storefronts and car windows as we passed, but it was a whole different kind of awful up close and personal like this. Even with the dim lighting in the bathroom.
My skin looked paler than usual, which only made the blue and purple of my bruises stand out all the more. The little scratches all across my face and arms from branches when I ran and the underbrush when I fell looked worse than they felt.
But it was the neck bruises that were really upsetting.
My good hand rose to touch them, feeling the memories come flooding back. The way my chest burned, my face went fuzzy, how my pulse started to slow as I got closer to death.
Close.
God, it had been so close.
My eyes stung, and I fought to keep the tears at bay. I wasn’t going to cry in a stranger’s bathroom. At least not while he was awake. Maybe I could cry later when I was sure he was asleep.
Until then, I had to hold it together.
“There’s extra toothbrushes in the bottom drawer,” Silvano’s voice called as he moved past the door.
“Thanks,” I called back, quieter, because my throat was starting to hurt like hell. Like strep throat, without actually being sick. The doctors mentioned pain like this, especially when trying to eat or drink.
It would just be a couple of days, maybe a week or so. Then I would start to feel normal again. I could begin to put my life back together, make other plans.
I brushed my teeth and washed some of the grime off of me, letting out a soft cry when there was a knock at the door.
“You good?” Silvano asked, popping his head in.
“Privacy, much?” I snapped.
“Door’s got a lock,” he said, pushing it open, revealing a set of clothes in his hands. “Figured you want to get out of that dirty outfit,” he said, waving at me.
“That’s really nice,” I said, looking longingly at the clean clothes. “But I don’t think I can change yet.”
“Turn,” he said, sighing at me.
“Turn for what?”
“So I can take off your shirt without staring at your tits,” he said, making a strange flush spread over my chest.
