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With crab-like movements, she attempts to stand, winces, then falls back with the grace of a broken feather. But since she’s more stubborn than an Italian-made leather shoe, she attempts to stand again.
This time, I push her back down with a firm yet gentle hand. “You’re not in a position to sit, let alone stand, so unless you plan to bleed on my floor and personally scrub it, stay the fuck down.”
“What a charmer.” She sucks in a pained breath.
“Charming you is the last thing that I’m after, and I don’t give jack shit whether you meant to come here or not. You did anyway, and you still didn’t answer my question.”
She looks at my hand that’s casually resting on her shoulder. Again, not hard, so as not to hurt her, but it’s firm enough to let her know there will be no escaping my hold.
“Do you mind?” she croaks.
“Not at all.” I sit beside her without removing my hand and she releases a sound that resembles an injured animal’s growl.
She doesn’t put up a fight, though, probably in too much pain to care. She stares at the opposite wall, at paintings done by breaking black glass, because chaos is the only form of beauty I approve of. “I was attacked.”
“I have enough deduction skills to figure that out on my own. Who, where, why, and how are the questions I’d like the answers to.”
“I don’t know.” She swallows and winces.
“Were you sexually assaulted?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She glares at me with her one good eye. “What do you mean am I sure?”
“No need to get defensive. I’m only looking at it from all angles here to form a mental picture.”
“What’s there to form about no, I wasn’t sexually assaulted?”
“The fact that you could’ve lost consciousness.”
“I didn’t. Drop it.”
“Fine. Did you recognize who did it?”
“No. Could have been anyone.”
“You have that many enemies, huh?”
She glares at me with her one good eye and it holds more punch than the seven billion pairs of them scattered around the earth. “You’re one to know, considering your track record.”
“Let’s not go down the throwing jabs route, because I’ll crush you easily and you’re in no state to verbally spar with me until you lose your breath. Now, let’s make our time useful and narrow it down to the known suspects. Who might have a beef with you lately, aside from me and your psycho father?”
Her eye widens and her lips tremble.
Fuck.
“It’s your father?” I ask, adding a needless question mark.
“I…don’t know.”
“Oh, but you do know. It’s obvious.”
She avoids my gaze again, this time pulling the sheet over her face and knocking away my hand in the process. “Maybe it’s you, asshole.”
I slide the sheet down, resisting the urge to yank it and possibly hurt her in the process. If softness and I had a one-on-one meeting, I would drive her to wrap a rope around her fragile neck. But I still find myself trying not to cause Aspen more discomfort.
