This wasn’t how she wanted her body to appear to him—bloody and battered.
The sting of hydrogen peroxide on her wounds was good. It made things sharper, made her feel more focused, more in control.
In control of my own pain.
A knock on the door jarred her out of that odd train of thought.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got ointment. You can spread it over some of the cuts before bandaging them.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Can I…can I open the door?”
She pulled the towel up tighter around herself, taking special care with her shoulders and back before responding. “Yes.”
“Here, I’ll hand it through.”
“Thank you,” Abby said, expecting him to leave.
Instead, he spoke from behind the open door. “It looked like… You can’t do your back on your own, Abby. I could do those for you, if you—”
“No!” Abby’s voice was close to a shout.I don’t want you to see me like this.
Silence.
“You want me to go?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Thank you.”
She waited for him to leave before doing her best to clean and clothe her body. Her back would just…Have to wait, she’d been about to tell herself. But why? Why would it wait when there was a person here who could take care of it for her? He could help her. Why refuse the help?
Modesty? Ha! A lot of good that’s done me.
She knew from experience that the bandages wouldn’t unstick themselves, and if she didn’t do something about it, healing would turn into a painful, never-ending cycle of sticking and removing, sticking and removing, until it scabbed up. And the scars.
The scars were the whole point, of course. Keeping God’s Mark on her body, wearing it as penance.
She shouldn’t care about the brands. A modest woman wouldn’t worry about her looks. She wouldn’t concern herself with the eyes of men like Luc on her body. She shouldn’t care that he’d find her ugly.
How skewed her priorities were—choosing an antiquated, man-made notion of impropriety over her own well-being. Choosing beauty over health.
And that thought decided her.Bare your ugliness. Stay alive. Forget modesty; forget everything but survival.
“Luc!” she called before she could change her mind. “I would like your help.”
She waited as he came in, dropping the towel in back and letting him see the bandages.
His breath came out harsh and surprised.
“Did they cut you?” he asked. She heard the moment he saw her arms, the gasp he couldn’t help but release.
“No,” she said, shutting her eyes tight. She wished she wasn’t here for this, wanted to disappear up, up, up above the world, on a tiny planet of her own. The way she’d disappeared when they’d done this to her back.
* * *
“What did they do to you, Abby?” He stared. Bandages. Big, yellowing bandages. They looked like they’d been on her skin for ages. And those scars on her arms.
