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I kneel on the floor beside him and run my fingers through his fur. For the first time since I found her on that kitchen floor, I bring myself to look at Penny, really look at her.
She is sleeping, her hands tucked under her cheek, and her split lips slightly parted. The swollen right side of her face is turning black and blue. Strands of hair stick to her forehead, and I can’t help but brush them away. Some dried blood covers parts of her face, but most worrisome is that her breathing seems labored. Shit, maybe I should have taken her to a doctor after all.
I retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom and wet a washcloth while I’m there. Quiet and gentle, I sit down on the floor beside the couch and start cleaning her face. Luckily, she doesn’t wake up. I don’t think I could handle her looking at me while I’m doing this. Fuck, I don’t think I could handle her looking at me at all, and again, I don’t understand why.
Why is this so hard for me?Seeing her like this, it should make me feel better. Knowing that she’s been with Thomas for the last few years shouldn’t matter to me. None of this should matter to me.Sheshouldn’t matter to me.
When I’m done cleaning her wounds, I get up to my feet and bump into the coffee table behind me. The noise wakes her, and her eyes flutter open. She looks up at me like she is about to say something, but her lips never move. So, I decide to speak instead.
“You sure you don’t need a doctor. You’re breathing funny. I don’t need you dying on my couch.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a bruised rib. It will be fine,” she says, her voice cracking at the end. “I won’t die from this. I’ll be fine.” I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince herself or me.
I’m about to turn around and leave when she coughs. Her face contorts into a mask of pain as she covers her mouth with her hand. As soon as she pulls her hand away, I see the bright red stain on her palm.Fucking Christ.
“You’re not fine. You’re coughing up blood. Let’s go, I’m taking you to the ER.”
“I’m sure it’s fine–”
“Get up,” I growl, not letting her finish. When she tries to get up on her own, I can see how much she is struggling. Barely able to push herself up to her feet, I grab her under the arms like a child and gently pull her up.
I help her to the truck, having to lift her into the seat. She winces at the movement but doesn’t complain.
“You fell down the stairs, got it?” I ask her when we are almost there. “I can’t have the cops involved. They’re looking for anything to pin on me at this point.”
“Got it,” she confirms right away. I’m not worried about Penny sticking to the lie as much as I am about some goody two shoes nurse calling the cops, thinking I beat her up.
I want to ask her why. Why she stayed with him, and why would she let him get away with beating her up. Did she really love him that much?
All these questions, but I don’t dare ask one out loud, because truthfully, I don’t want to hear the answer, mostly because I’m not ready to hear it.
