Page 729 of Coal Hearts

And as I wrapped a fluffy white towel around my far slimmer waist, I flatly refused to look at all the bruises still covering my torso or the deep wine-coloured stain covering the left side of my chest where a few of my ribs had been broken. I forced my malnourished hand to remain steady as I reached for the razor in the drawer, tore off the paper packaging, and removed the thick hair on my face.

By the time the door opened and soft footfalls brought more company, I no longer looked like a prisoner of war but a survivor of whatever came next.

Rinsing the razor and placing it carefully by the sink, I caught my eyes and clutched the sink.

Whatever happens...it can’t break you.

Whatever he does to you...it’s just a body.

Do what Ily did, and don’t watch.

My head tipped as the weight of sickness, sadness, and sorrow almost crippled me.

“Oh good, you’re clean.”

The shock of company kept me standing.

I scowled as Dr Melanie Belford appeared on the bathroom threshold. Her gaze caught mine in the mirror and for a moment, a flicker of compassion and soul-deep pity flashed before she covered it up with businesslike impatience. “Come out here, please. I’ve set up what I need by the window.”

Sighing heavily, I padded into the bedroom and toward the small table where sunlight spilled inside. The golden rays hurt my eyes after so long in the dark. On a white cloth, a few tools waited, looking like torture devices.

“Here to start my punishment early, Belford?”

She flinched and sat down on one of the chairs. Pointing at the other, she kept her voice low, but her eyes collided with far more than what she said. “I’m going to cut off your casts.”

I sat heavily in the chair.

I didn’t want to admit it, but...I was nowhere near full strength.

Healing had robbed me of every shred of energy, and after a month of not moving past my chain’s small leash, my muscles had started to atrophy. “Don’t broken bones take six weeks or so to knit?”

She nodded and rearranged my arm as I placed the drenched cast onto the table. “Yes, usually. And in your case, with the conditions you were kept in and lack of sustenance, you’d probably need eight weeks minimum. But...”

“You’ve been tasked with making me presentable for Victor.”

She swallowed hard, shot a look at the two guards by the door, and nodded. “Stay still. This won’t take long.” Grabbing a small electric saw, she turned it on, and the high-pitched buzz replaced our awkward silence as she cut my arm free.

As fresh air reached past the itchy confines of the cast, I ached with the urge to scratch. My forearm was damp from my shower, and traces of dirt I hadn’t managed to rinse away ran in rivulets amongst my arm hair.

With a sniff, she turned off the saw, grabbed the two ends of the cast, and cracked the rest wide open. Slipping it off my withered forearm, she eyed up the bump that hadn’t been there before. Tossing the cast into a hazardous waste bag by her feet, she reached for her supplies on the table and used a few alcohol wipes to clean up the rest of my skin.

Her fingers were soft and gentle as she probed the still-healing break. “Your bone will have started knitting together, but putting too much pressure on it will re-fracture it. So...be careful.”

I laughed under my breath. “I don’t think it’s me you have to worry about being gentle, doc.”

She pursed her lips and didn’t reply.

I hadn’t been conscious when she’d casted me. I had scant memories of her murmuring why I had to lie still and why she poked me with painful things, but...she’d done the best she could, and I was grateful.

“Thank you, Melanie,” I whispered. “For trying to fix me.”

Her gaze shot to mine. Her lips twisted as if she wanted to say something. Shaking her head, she grabbed her saw again and dropped to her knees. Neither of us spoke as she sliced away the cast around my ankle.

The sensation of sticky grime and healing came again as she cracked it off and tossed it with the other. Shards of plaster scattered on the black carpet beneath my chair. White dust covered her fingers as she reached for another alcoholic wipe and cleaned off my leg.

Bending a little, I inspected the state of my ankle. No visible bump like my forearm, but it seemed thinner. My lower leg was as fragile as the rest of me.

Fuck, I hated this.