Page 129 of The Monster and the Masochist

“Cass, I’m fine. I can walk,” I muttered as she wrapped her arm around my waist, steadying me as I tried to stand.

The world swam as I was hit with a dizzy spell, and I stumbled.

“Shut the fuck up, Theo,” she hissed, tightening her hold on me and guiding me toward the elevator.

The ride up was another long, silent, awkward experience. The elevator was mirrored, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of my face.

Yikes.

No wonder she was so pissed off.

I looked like I got in a fight with a lawn mower. My right eye was completely swollen shut, and the whole side of my face was already turning green from the bruising.

There was dried blood under my nose, and my lip had a gnarly cut. Probably sliced it on my teeth after I lost the mouth guard.

Oh well. It would heal.

It sounded like I was out of commission for a few weeks because of the concussion anyway.

“Bathroom. Sit on the toilet,” she ordered curtly, and I gingerly slipped out of my Nikes before silently moving to do what I was told.

I was so fucking tired.

I was no longer buzzed from the wine I’d sipped on all day. Now I was just that weird kind of hangover you get if you drink too much and don’t sleep. That, coupled with the concussion and the mashed-up face, was making it hard for me to keep my eyes open.

Collapsing down on the toilet in the guest bathroom, I leaned back and dropped my head over the wall.

It wasn’t comfortable with the tank digging into my back, but I didn’t care. I could barely keep my head up.

When Cassandra entered the bathroom, her rage felt like a physical thing, and I was defenseless against it.

She flicked the lights on, and I winced against the blinding brightness. It was doing nothing to help with the massive headache I was suffering through.

With my eyes closed, I listened as Cassandra turned on the tap to the sink and unsnapped what sounded like a first aid kit of some kind.

When I felt her move to crouch between my legs, I forced myself to crack open my one good eye so I could watch her.

She was on her knees before me, holding up a damp washcloth, and I forced myself not to wince as she started to carefully dab at the dried blood that had crusted on my upper lip.

Her gentle touches were triggering the shit out of me, but I kept my mouth shut. I was already on thin ice, and I didn’t want to give her another reason to be mad at me.

“Thanks,” I grunted, and her dark eyes flicked up to meet mine, her perfect lips in a firm line.

“I don’t even have words right now, Theodora.”

I shrugged, which seemed to be the wrong thing to do. Her lip curled, and her entire face contorted with rage. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she snapped, and I felt the first twinges of my own anger beginning to surface.

“How much time do you have?” I sighed, already wishing she would just get to the point and kick me out so I could lick my wounds in peace back at my guesthouse.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Theodora!” she hissed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” I deadpanned.

“I’m certainly not! Do you have any idea what that was like for me? Having to stand there and watch while that woman beat the fucking shit out of you?”

“You weren’t even supposed to be there!” I snarled. “I didn’t invite you for a reason.”

“You didn’t invite me last night either, when you apparently went out for ‘pops’ with Jerry.”