Selma looked down, following the nurse’s gaze, and blanched. On each hip, nearly black, finger-shaped bruises from where Marathin had held her when he took her from behind marred her pale skin.
“Er…” She grabbed the towel from the hook next to the shower and wrapped it around herself. “I think I got them from... from the attack.”
Marie’s kind eyes narrowed. “No, you didn’t; you did not have them when you arrived here—they would have been noted in your chart. Where did you get them from, Selma? Has someone hurt you?”
“No!” It came out too quickly, and she could see the blooming concern spreading on the nurse’s face. Damn it. She needed her to stop the questions now, to make absolutely certain that she did not risk being silenced by the overzealous demon.
“Look, I...” She stepped out of the shower, keeping a firm grip on the towel. “I did it to myself. Before Dr. Hershey helped me. It’s been a way of coping. I know, it’s not smart, but I really think I’ll be able to deal with it better now.”
She knew she was babbling in her attempt at throwing the other woman off the scent, and it wasn’t that she was massively keen on adding “self-harm” to her extensive file, but anything was better than Marathin taking lethal steps to ensure his continued free rein as a procurer.
“Honey...” Marie bit her lip. “Those do not look like self-inflicted bruises. If someone hurt you, you need to tell me.”
“No one’s hurt me.” Selma attempted a bright smile. “Everyone’s been so kind here. I promise; it was my own stupidity, nothing else. I’ll ask Dr. Hershey if he thinks I need help with it, but I honestly doubt it. I think he... cured me. Isn’t that amazing?”
The long, doubtful look she received for her efforts made her cheeks tighten, spreading the smile painfully across her face.
Please, Marie. Please believe me.
The urge to dry up before her skin cooled from the amazing shower and her muscles seized again only increased her need for the nurse to drop the issue.
“Is breakfast ready? I’m starving.” Nothing like a healthy appetite to convey the image of an equally healthy patient. Not that she was lying about that particular part—last night’s adventures had depleted her resources, and after the shower had loosened up her aching muscles, her body was now free to focus on the gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes.” Marie sent her another lingering look. “We are very understaffed this morning; most of the nurses, wardens, and doctors are at a meeting until after lunch, so I will leave you to eat while I finish up with the other patients. I’ll be back to bring you to your appointment with Dr. Hershey in half an hour. After that, we will talk about those bruises some more.”
“Really, there’s no need …” Selma paused at the pained expression crossing the nurse’s face.
“Look, I... I shouldn’t be saying this, but... Honey, you’ve obviously been hurt, and only members of staff have had access to you. In the past, we’ve had some... issues with some of the wardens. I know you’re probably very scared, but I promise that I will go directly to the police. You won’t have to see whoever did this again, and this time management won’t get the chance to sweep it under the rug.”
Selma frowned. They‘d “had issues in the past”? She wondered if they’d really had wardens behave unacceptably toward other patients, or if Marathin had simply covered his tracks after performing his special brand of examinations on unsuspecting women. Patients as trapped and frightened as she had been and still was.
And now this kind woman was planning to stand up to the injustice she thought came from the hospital management, not realizing that she wouldn’t just be risking her job in the process—she would be risking her life.
“No.” Selma tried her best to look strong and convincing as she stood wrapped in her towel on the cold, white tiles. “Don’t do that. There is no need, I promise.”
Marie’s lips pinched, the determination in her blue eyes unwavering. “Dry yourself off, Selma, and have your breakfast. I will be back shortly.”
* * *
Selma picked at her breakfast, her growling stomach demanding nourishment even though she was sick with fear—fear of Marathin, fear for Marie, and fear for her own future. She really, really didn’t need the added concern of a nosy nurse asking questions that could get her killed.
When Marie came to get her, she had finished off the plate, but her anxiety hadn’t eased in the slightest.
“Are you ready, honey?” Marie asked with an encouraging smile, and Selma managed to nod in return and get up.
This was it; her entire future depended on whether or not she could fool the demon into believing she wanted him.
Her thoughts kept looping around what he’d make her do to prove her loyalty once she’d signed his contract, along with the fact that if he killed Marie for asking questions, Selma would be responsible. Cold fear knotted in her stomach.
“You don’t look so well, Selma. Is something wrong?” The nurse’s smile dropped. “Is it the bruises? Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Nothing happened,” she said, doing her best to wipe the worry from her features. “I’m just a little tired. Is Dr. Hershey ready to see me now?”
Marie replied with another suspicious look, but ended up nodding and leading her out the door. “We will talk more after your appointment. I’m not letting another girl…” She stopped herself, and with a strained smile, closed the door behind them.
They walked through the empty corridors in silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the old building. Selma tried to calm herself, to remind herself that it hadn’t been all pain and suffering last night, but when Marie rapped her knuckles on the door to Marathin’s office, her heart leapt into her throat.
The door opened, revealing Marathin’s tall and darkly handsome figure. He smiled at the sight of them, stepping aside. “Selma, Marie. Do come in, both of you.”
