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“This one.”
“Alright.”
With that, I climbed off the bed, making my way into the bathroom.
More of the same dark colors.
Even the tile in the shower stall and the soaking tub itself.
Opening the storage cabinet, I found a plastic container jammed full of first aid supplies, making me wonder yet again what the fuck this woman did for a living that had her so stocked up on bandages, antiseptic, little plastic tiles of sealed saline, butterfly sutures, ointments and salves, and even a fucking kit to do her own stitches.
I gathered what I needed, washed my hands, and made my way back to the bed, sitting at her feet, spreading towels, and getting to work cleaning the wounds with the saline, then letting them dry before slathering on some triple antibiotic, then figuring out how to put bandage them without the adhesive touching the other cuts.
I decided on gauze, then wrapping the legs with some of the cohesive bandage wrap to wrap up her entire legs and arms.
I felt Rynn’s gaze on me the whole time, but said nothing, just let her think through whatever was going on in her head.
Finished, I put everything on the nightstand, knowing this would need to be repeated again in the morning.
“How about some ice for your face?” I asked, looking up at her. It took actual work to keep my jaw slack and my eyes from slitting when I looked up at her pretty face all battered like that.
There would be a time and a place for my anger. This wasn’t it.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Want anything else while I’m out there? Something to eat? I know it will be a bitch to choke anything down, but I could pick up some ice cream.”
“You don’t hav—“
“What kind of ice cream do you want, baby?” I cut her off.
“Vanilla bean. Or caramel. Or…strawberry.”
“Vanilla, caramel, and strawberry it is,” I agreed. “Give me twenty. Don’t lock the door on me. It was a pain in the ass to have to pick it,” I added, leaning over her to press a kiss to the top of her head, then making my way out.
I paused just outside her building, head tipped back, eyes closed, taking a few deep breaths.
Then I reached for my phone, calling Josie.
“Is she okay?” she answered before a full ring could even finish. Her voice was raised and clipped.
“She’s… recovering. I don’t think she needs to see a doctor. But she’s rough, Josie.”
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Black eye, bruised cheek and jaw. Someone strangled her, she’s got a finger necklace of bruises…”
“Oh, my God,” Josie gasped.
“There are cuts all up and down her legs. I treated those. They were looking gnarly. Any idea if she’s had a tetanus shot recently?”
“Yeah, a couple years ago.”
“Good. She’s got bruised hands and knees. And there’s something wrong with her stomach or rib area, but I haven’t pressed her on that yet. But that would be the thing I’m most worried about. A broken rib or something like that. So I will have her let me look eventually.”
“How is she… you know… emotionally?” Josie asked.
“A little withdrawn, which freaks me the fuck out,” I admitted. “I want her to open up to me, but I’m trying not to force it. I’m just popping out to pick her up some ice cream. Getting strangled makes your throat hurt like a motherfucker.”
