“Mave.” I tug at his hand. “Please.”
He sighs, stares at me while a look of contemplation plays across his features, and then, finally –thankfully– he decides to sit down next to me. He then cradles me in his arms and scans me entirely.
“God, look at what she’s done to you,” he whispers. “Fuckingbitch.”
“I’ll…” I swallow. “I’ll be fine.”
His eyes flash as they meet mine. “You’rebleeding, Nettie.”
Am I? I can’t feel it. It has to be the cut on my right cheek, I presume.
“It’s just a wound,” I say, then blink when my vision goes blurry momentarily.
“I know,” he hisses. “But you shouldn’t have tobewounded. You shouldn’t have to be in a situation which requires you to recover, not likethis.” He gestures at my face.
“It is what it is,” I tell him.
“But that’s the thing, Nettie. It doesn’thaveto be.”
“I know.” I touch my fingers to his jaw. “I’m aware.”
He frowns, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this broken before. It brings an ache to my chest, and I feel so damn helpless. Not only for him, but also for myself.
I groan and rest my head on his shoulder when a wave of nausea takes over, and Mave instantly tightens his arms around me.
“You with me?” he asks, and I notice a crack in his voice at those words.
“Yes.”
He sighs, then presses a soft kiss on my hairline. “Come on, then; let’s fix you up. The longer I see you like this, the more tempted I’ll be to punch a hole in your meritless mother’s frigid heart.”
I fist his jacket and inhale shakily, then nod and say, “Okay.”
14.
There’s water running in the background from the bath I’ve just started for myself. Apart from that, the only other sound I can hear is the elementary beating of my heart.
I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, wearing nothing but the scars my mother gave me this morning.
The left side of my face is a splendid shade of crimson, and is swollen – albeit a little less than it was a few hours ago. There’s a gash on my right cheek – smaller than half an inch, Mave had said. It didn’t require stitches, thankfully, but it still hurt like a bitch.
I swallow, and my gaze falls lower, to the untidy yet stark finger imprints on my neck. They don’t hurt, per se, but they are so glaringly obvious that it makes my eyes sting.
They are jewels of my mother’s rage, these scars. They are a warrior’s proof of victory.Myvictory against her cruelty.
I take a step back, and then look at the bruise that covers most of my stomach. It’s…ugly; deep to the point where it looks violet under my bathroom lights. My ribs still ache if I move too much, but it isn’t anything a warm bath can’t fix.
At least that’s what I told Mave.
Mave…
My God, he’s been heaven-sent. He spent the entire day by my side – like he always does after these…incidents. From disinfecting my gash, icing my face and stomach, giving me an ample dose of pain meds so that I could sleep most of the initial impact off, to quite literally feeding me lunch and dinner, he did it all. And, as embarrassed as I am to admit it, he also helped me take a dump and a few pisses throughout the day.
None of this is his job. Hell, none of this is even supposed tohappen. But, even if it does – which it clearly does – he doesn’t deserve to be the one to pick up my pieces and make me whole again. He’s so much better than this; so much better than the mess he’s gotten himself into. But I’m selfish. I can’t ask him to walk away. Ineedhim, even though it isn’t fair to him. Still, I need him.
He wasn’t ready to leave me, but I’d forced him out of my room; all but ordered him to go home and get some rest.
“I can sleep here,” he’d argued.
