“He’s an eligible bachelor with a good profession. Good looking too. Marry him and make him take the family name, girl.”
The women of this family have managed that very thing when necessity calls for it. A daughter has never meant the end of the Martinez line, not in Vesper Point. I’m not sure how they managed it. I’m not the kind of woman that would make a man bend like that. I’m damaged, no way I’m going to get a man to give up his name. I glance up at Julian and see he’s watching me closely. He looks like he wants to come closer but he doesn’t.
“I could, well I could give you medical attention if you need it. I have some salves that will help, painkillers too.”
My cheeks burn hot. Salve and painkillers. He’s noticed the whole time, he’s just been too polite to let on about my battered face.
“I don’t think–,” I stop myself, my normal response would be to tell him to leave, that I don’t think he can do anything but I can’t do it. Something stops me from telling him I don’t need his help. “Do you think I might need stitches?” I ask, pointingto the cut above my eye. I haven’t really looked at it, just barely when I got out of the shower today to quickly clean it. I was too distracted scrubbing the blood off me last night to pay attention to anything else..
Julian hums and steps close to me. “May I?” he asks, motioning to my face.
My belly feels like it's filled with butterflies. Billy never made me feel like this, not in the whole time we were together. That’s why, like an idiot, I nod and take a small step towards Julian.
“Please.”
“I’ll be gentle,” Julian says when he comes close and I think I hear a slight tease in his voice. Is he flirting with me? The idea is silly. He’s a doctor just helping his whacky busted neighbor out, but still the thought that he might be flirting whispers to me. I stay still and let Julian examine me without reading more into it. I hold my breath while I remind myself this isn’t a fucking romance novel. He’s not the city doctor who comes to a small town to make the town grump realize the power of Christmas or some shit like that.
I’m a fucking murderer.
My stomach turns sour. I got hurt while killing a man, not some quirky hallmark shit like a Christmas tree falling on my head. I beat him to death with a candle. My hands start to shake and I clench them into fists at my side and avert my eyes from Julian’s searching gaze. He might be all business right now but I don’t need to get confused staring deeply into the hot and sexy doctor’s soulful eyes.
“It doesn’t look too deep. It’ll heal just fine, no stitches needed,” Julian says. He turns my face, fingers light on my chin and brushes my hair back from the bruise on my cheek. “The other guy didn’t stand a chance, did he?”
My stomach stops feeling like there’s butterflies in it and drops out of my ass to the floor. “What?” Does he know whathappened to Brian? Did he hear something? What does he mean, theother guy?“There’s no other guy. I-I got this on my own. Just clumsy,” I tell him quickly. I turn away from Julian before he can respond.
He’s silent while I look at the floor. “Of course,” Julian says. “It was a poor joke. I apologize, Maris, I promise, I usually have a much better bedside manner than this.” He sounds sad so I look at him. He’s frowning like he hates that he upsets me, hands balled at his sides and shoulders slumped.
I don’t like that I made him feel like this.
I’m always messing up. I’m always making people feel like this.
“Sorry, I’m just jumpy,” I say softly. “There was a break in here.”
He looks up and concerned blue eyes meet mine because of course Julian is concerned. “Last night? I didn’t hear anything. Did you call the police?” He moves like he’s going to go for the telephone that hangs on the wall. It’s an old one with a rotary dial and everything, even a cord so long it stretches down the hall and into the dining room. I nearly tripped on it the nights my grandmother used to gab on it to her friends while she was having dinner. I glance towards the hallway and I can still hear her cackling and gossiping. It’s so quiet here now.
“No.” I stop him with a hand on his arm. “No, not last night. It was a while ago, two years ago. I meant that I’m jumpy, that I’ve been a little on edge since then. Sometimes, jokes don’t land right with me. It’s not your fault.”
Julian looks me over. “You’ve been on edge for two years?”
“When you say it like that it kind of sounds crazy.”
“Your nervous system can’t sustain that. No human can.”
“I’m mostly okay.”
“Your body cannot exist in fight or flight indefinitely. Have you seen someone about the trauma? It’s dangerous to yourhealth. Your immune system has to be fried by now.” Julian sounds all doctor right now. The same way that I used to get talked to during my annual check ups.
I duck my head. “I don’t get sick.”
It’s true. I don’t. Neither did my granny.
“There’s more to immune systems than catching a cold. How’s your sleep? Is your focus at work suffering? How about your mood? Snapping at friends and family more than usual? Irritable?”
I flush when he brings up me snapping at friends and family. There are no friends and family, not anymore. I’m a fucking mess. I’m an insomniac and sometimes I lose what feels like an entire day. I go through the motions and have nothing to show for it. My focus is trash. The newspaper keeps me sane because it helps me mark time. It’s the only thing I can focus on sometimes. That and Vesper House. The old Victorian’s upkeep is more than enough to keep me busy, but still…sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind in these halls.
Like I’m not the only one here.
“I’m doing okay at work,” I pause and then add, “I don’t sleep much,” I say, giving Julian a sanitized version of what my life is like. I don’t want to be a mess around him. I don’t want to be that person. Someone he feels obligated to because he feels sorry for them.
