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Then her eyes narrow on me. “What do you mean, you know? Have you ever done that?”
Is she fucking kidding? “Asked for sick things?” I am fucking offended.
“No! Used a prostitute.”
Calm down, Fabian.“Only once and I wasn’t exactly a willing participant.” I fill her in on the day I lost my phone and the girls by the river. “But I’ve met a lot of these girls. They’re often drug addicts, and the sick guys take advantage of that.” I don’t know what to tell her here—they’re so much part of the drug world. “When I was out looking for Zach, I’d often see some guy turn up in a car that I’d know was as sick as fuck, and sometimes I’d give the girls money so they didn’t have to do whatever his sick thing was. It was probably the wrong thing to do, but if I didn’t do it, they would come back with bruises all over their bodies or worse. Steve at the shelter would find a doctor to fix them up and I’d pay.” I shake my head.
“We’ve had a few girls like that turn up in the ER.”
I close my eyes. “Fuck, it makes my blood boil.”
“David said he wasn’t a cheat,” Kate says suddenly, and a sharp laugh hurtles out of my mouth.
“This guy, Kate, he sounds like a monumental asshole.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to ask any more and find out what they did with him,” she whispers.
“Probably just as well. You could have been scarred for life.” I shake my head. “He would never have told you.”
She stares at me. “I’ve never thought of it like this. I’ve just regretted not asking him every day, wishing I was braver. The idea that I didn’t do what he wanted …” She shakes her head. “And now you’re saying … It’s not about me at all, is it?” She gives a harsh laugh. “It’s about the fact that he likes sick stuff, and he can only get that in one place. He wouldn’t have askedanyone—I mean anyone he was in a relationship with—for it.” She clenches her fists. “And he kept telling me how much he loved me and how sorry he was. Oh my God.”
“Jesus, Kate, the nerve of this prick!” I growl. “Just tell me where he is so I can go and rip his head off.”
She laughs at me. “You are not going to pick a fight with David.”
“I’d fucking like to.”
She shakes her head at me. “For so long I’ve hated that I got it so wrong. He bombarded me afterward—notes, flowers, reminders of things that were special to us.”
My God, the echoes of what I did with her are almost obscene. “You are not to blame.”
She laughs out loud. “He still calls me sometimes.”
And I narrow my eyes on her. “You are fucking kidding me. Next time he calls, I’m fucking speaking to him.”
She looks down at her hands. “I could have so easily ended up married to him. I think I had a lucky escape. God, I was so easily fooled.”
I don’t want her to feel that way, but I get it. “You and me both. But maybe these are the important experiences, the ones that teach you something valuable about people and what you want.” I stare off out the window. “But I … I have had to apologize to you too many fucking times, my crazy behavior … Am I really any better? I …”
She snorts. “You are nothing like David. Trust me. He was a master manipulator, and I just don’t think you do that.”
She’s right. I don’t. And she’s here. She’s sitting on my bed. Talking. I run my finger down her arm, lace my fingers through hers.
“You really take care of other people,” she says.
What? My breath stalls as I stare at her.I love you so fucking much.
She squeezes my hand before pulling back and reaching for the soapy water, cleaning my wound and smearing the ointment up and down it. She digs a bandage out of the pocket of her scrubs and starts wrapping it around and around.
She’s clearly trying to draw an end to talking about David. For her or for me? Either way, I’m going to let her have that.
“You’re a badass doctor.”
“I’m wrapping a bandage around your arm.”
“What? So, is that like doctoring 101?”
She pauses. “I’ll want you to give me space sometimes.”
