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I knew my not-so-classy technique of making her feel guilty and selfish about not taking care of herself was a douchebag move, but I didn’t particularly care.
Because it worked.
Chloe bit her lip in worry and glanced at her parents before muttering, “Okay, fine. I’ll take a pill.”
Pick straightened in surprise. We all knew he wanted her to do this as well, but he still asked, “Are you sure?” because he obviously hadn’t wanted to force her into it in the merciless way I had.
She nodded, however, and murmured, “Yeah. It’s fine. He’s right. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Hewasn’t thinking,” Pick growled as he sent me a short glower. But he kissed her forehead, anyway, his mouth tightening when she flinched briefly from his touch, and he pulled his arm from around her shoulders before shimmying off the bed and standing. “I’ll be right back,” he said softly, smoothing a hand over her hair, only to pull away again when she sucked in a startled breath from his touch.
Then he turned toward me, and his affectionate expression dropped into a glare. Pausing next to me on his way out of the room, he murmured for my ears alone, “Keep being a dick, and I’m kicking you out of my house, got it?”
I didn’t respond, just turned my gaze to mother and daughter still on the bed as he strode from the room. Crossing my arms over my chest, I couldn’t help but ask, “Anything else you’re refusing to take? Are you even on any painkillers right now?”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I’m sufficiently full of ibuprofen, thank you very much.”
“Next dosage is in another three hours,” Eva spoke up, touching Chloe’s arm in comfort, which only caused Chloe to shrink back, and then realize what she was doing. And she stopped abruptly.
Her mother looked pained by the move, but neither of them mentioned it.
I shifted my gaze around Chloe’s face and watched her chin tremble in regret. She knew she was hurting her parents every time she instinctively shied from their touch, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from doing it time and time again.
“Babe,” Pick’s voice called from down the hall. “Did we want to give her something from this white bottle or the brown one?”
“What?” Eva shook her head and sighed. “No. Where are you even looking?” Then she eased away from Chloe and slid off the bed as well. “Just wait right there. Don’t touch anything. I’m coming.”
She didn’t scowl at me as she passed, the way her husband had, but patted my shoulder in a kind, motherly fashion.
And then finally… I was alone with Chloe.
I’ve been craving a moment to myself with her since I’d given her up to the police. Everyone kept saying she was okay, and I could see with my eyes that she was still pushing on, but…I don’t know. I needed to touch her with my own hands to fully believe it, I think.
Stepping toward the bed, I eased down until I was sitting on the edge not far from her hip. “Your eye still looks freaky,” I said.
“I know.” She hissed out a breath and started to lift her fingers toward it, only to pause before making contact. “When I finally saw it in the mirror, it creeped me out too.”
“You’d make a good horror movie victim,” I agreed and held out a hand. “Now, what about your wrists?”
Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes, but ungraciously swung out her arm and flopped her hand into mine so I could inspect the damage.
I closed my fingers around hers lightly and then I ran my thumb over the tender bruised skin as I twisted her arm gently to check out both the front and back.
“Better,” I said, nodding to myself. “Not as swollen anymore, and the cuts aren’t nearly as bad as they looked with all the blood on them.”
Chloe said nothing, just held out her other arm so I could see that wrist too.
“Same,” I murmured, lightly tracing my finger over the scabbed cut lines there. Looking up, I asked, “Your ankles any different?”
She shook her head.
I exhaled harshly and leaned toward her, wishing I could just gather her into my arms and hold her safely there for the rest of forever, keeping everything bad and shitty from ever hurting her again.
She leaned into me as well until our brows were resting against each other. I lifted my hand to curl it around the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair in the process, to keep her right where she was, and then my eyes drifted shut.
“I really don’t want to take any sleeping pills,” she finally said, and her voice shook a little as if she was afraid.
I opened my eyes and pulled back to look at her face, hating how awful her eye looked and how dented and dinged her mouth and cheek and eyebrows were. “You really need them.”
