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“He could be bleeding internally,” she insists as I cup her chin in my hand, gently turning her cheek to the light as I wipe a smear of blood away. But she isn’t scratched there, thank goodness.
“Well, you’re bleedingexternally.” I calmly wipe away the blood on her arm next, not wanting to upset her any more than she is already. “So, I’ll take care of you first. Then I’ll check on Clyde and make sure he’s okay. But I saw it happen. He was on the move before you landed on him. He’s fine. Just scared.”
Her eyes begin to shine. “I know. I’d be scared if someone fell on me, too. I feel terrible. We were getting along so well. Now, he’ll hate me like all the other animals.”
“Animals don’t hate you,” I assure her, as I switch to an alcohol swab, cleaning her arm. She winces as I drag the cool pad across her skin. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Her fingers touch my thigh only to flutter away again as she encounters bare skin. “Will I be scarred for life?”
“Not even a little bit,” I say, wishing I weren’t doing this wearing nothing but damp boxer briefs. I should have stepped into the bathroom to change, but Nora’s clothes were all over the floor and I didn’t want to disrupt the drying process. And I thought I’d have a chance to get dressed before she emerged from the bedroom. I’m a notoriously fast changer. Back in high school, I set my alarm for 6:55 and always made it to the bus stop by 7:10.
“Yes, they do. Take Keanu Reeves. He loves everyone,” she says, her breath beginning to hitch. “But the first time I tried looking after him, he growled at me and stole my eggs.WhileI was cooking them. And I can tell Kyle wants to peck my eyes out most of the time. The only thing stopping him is the fact that he loves Starling, and he knows Starling lovesme,and she wants me to keep my eyes. But one of these days, Starling isn’t going to be around, Kyle’s going to snap, and then where will I be? I will be blind, that’s where I’ll be.” Her voice cracks. “Because I was stupid enough to think I could win him over, when all animals instinctively sense there’s something wr-wrong with me.”
Her sobs begin in earnest and my chest aches.
I scoot closer on the carpet, but before I can put my arms around her, Clyde is crawling over my thighs. Nora follows my gaze, sucking in a frightened breath as the cat hesitates by her knee.
“Has he come to seek vengeance?” she whispers.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper back, smiling as Clyde maneuvers delicately into her lap to lay down, resting his chin on her flannel-covered thigh. “I think he can tell you’re upset and is trying to comfort you.”
“He is?” she asks, fresh tears sliding down her face even as her lips twitch.
Clyde begins to purr, and I make a mental note to buy the cat a lifetime supply of catnip before I drop him off at his owner’s house. “He is,” I say. “He was just scared, that’s all. He doesn’t hate you. See, you’re still buddies.”
Nora scratches tentative fingers between his ears, gaining the confidence to expand her efforts to a full back stroke when his purring grows louder. “Aw, thanks, Clyde. I appreciate it so much. I’m sorry I’m such a weirdo.”
“You’re not a weirdo,” I say. “I’d imagine there’s a good reason you’re afraid of animals. People don’t develop phobias out of the blue.”
She continues to pet Clyde, her gaze fixed on his small, vibrating body. “Sure, they do. My first boyfriend was terrified of mannequins, and he was never attacked by a plastic humanoid figure at any point in his childhood or early development. He just thought they were really creepy.”
“So, is that what it is for you?” I ask, unwrapping a Band-Aid. Thankfully the wounds have stopped bleeding, but the deeper cuts on her arms should be covered, at least for the night. “You just think animals are creepy?”
“No,” she says, watching me guide the bandage over her scratches before looking up at me through the hair curling around her face. “My dad used to be part of the dog fight circuit, back when I was really little. Like, barely more than a baby.”
I grunt judgmentally, and she smiles.
“Yeah,” she says. “He was gross. A real abusive jerk to animals and humans, alike. At one point, he had a really vicious dog that he’d trained to be a flat-out killing machine. His name was Mordor, like the evil fantasy land in The Lord of the Rings.” She continues to pet the still purring Clyde as she adds in a mild tone, “One day, Mordor got out of his kennel while Aaron and I were in the backyard. Either Dad was too drunk the night before to lock him up properly or my brother accidentally let him out when he was trying to get his bike or something. That part was never quite clear. But one way or another, the dog got out, saw me playing in my baby pool, and decided I was a threat. He had me in his jaws for a while before my brother fought him off with a shovel.”
She tips her head back, showcasing faint white puncture wound scars—scattered across her skin from behind her jaw to near the center of her neck.
I try to hide my horror but clearly do a shit job of it.
She laughs softly as she lets her hair fall back into place. “It’s okay. I don’t remember it, at least consciously. I was barely two. All I remember was being in the hospital after and how much I loved getting all the popsicles I could eat. The nurses were really sweet.” She shrugs and resumes petting the cat. “But, ever since then, I’ve been scared of animals.”
“Was the dog put down?” I ask, imagining the only thing worse than being attacked by a vicious dog would be being forced to continue to live with the animal afterward. Not that it was the dog’s fault, but once a animal’s that far gone, it’s often too late for rehabilitation.
She shakes her head. “No, but the authorities took him away and made Dad get rid of the other dogs he was training for the fights. I don’t remember much about that, either, but Mom later told me he was real pissed about it. He blamed my brother for letting the dog out. Screamed at him for hours. It was sad all around. For everyone, Mordor included. Who knows what kind of dog he might have been if he’d been treated well.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that.” I bring my hand to her back, rubbing my palm gently up and down.
“It’s okay,” she says.
“It’s not okay. I want to punch your dad in the face.”
She laughs softly. “Same. I mean, not anymore, but there were times in the past when I was really mad at him and at my mom. But now, I’m just grateful for the life I have. And for Gram. She loved Aaron and me enough to make up for all the bad times when we were little.” She looks up, her brow furrowed. “I should text her and tell her I love her. Even though I’m still pissed about the newspaper thing.”
I brush her hair from her forehead. “You don’t have to. She knows you love her, and it’s okay to be angry, even with the people we love most. I’m pissed at someone in the McGuire clan on a regular basis.”
