When I was bad, my parents would take away my sheets. I had to sleep cold and alone, curled up against my pillow for warmth.
Never tell the truth, or they’ll take you away.
Those words repeated in my head every night I spent locked away behind those walls.
As I grew into a teenager, hospitals and wards became a routine part of my life, and I loathed them. Hated how they reminded me of how fragile I was, how my body and mind just couldn’t cope with the blows, the slaps, the shoves.
How my bones broke just as easily as they did when I was a small child.
And how my body would bleed.
Though that type of pain…it became a comfort I sought after in many ways. The initial shock, the relief. Seeing the blood spill, knowing I could end it all with a flick of my wrist.
“Whit,” a voice says beside me, and my eyes flutter open.
Caleb’s blue eyes meet mine, his gaze slightly foggy, as if he doesn’t remember where he is or why.
Pain flickers across his face, and he groans, rubbing at his head.
“Careful,” I murmur, taking his hand and placing it on my chest. “You have stitches up there.”
“Ugh. I need some water.”
I reach over and hand him a small Styrofoam cup and watch as he takes a greedy sip, his throat clicking as he swallows. Then his gaze roams over me, and he sighs.
“You look damn cute. Like you all rumpled.”
I flush at the compliment and take his water from him, setting it on the small table near his bed.
“When can I go home?”
“The doctor will be back soon. So hopefully today.”
He glances around the room. “Where’s Aunt Del?”
“She left when I got here.”
He sighs and is silent a moment before blurting, “I need to pee.”
“Right, come on.” I know the drill. I slip off the bed and help him walk to the bathroom, not leaving his side. Instead, I stand in the bathroom and turn around to let him piss in peace before helping him back to bed.
As I do, his gown slips open and my perverted eyes slip to his ass.
I can’t help it.
I like that part of his anatomy. A lot.
“I do a lot of squats to get this, babe,” he says as I pull the covers back. My eyebrow arches up, at a loss for words. Even injured, he can smile, can tease me.
I was never like this. Every minute in the hospital was like a new cut to my skin.
I never smiled. Never laughed. He should take this more seriously.
“Stop looking at me like that, all stern and shit,” he huffs. “You’re making me hard.”
I open my mouth to say something, to give him a stern talking to, but a knock on the door silences me.
A doctor appears, and she smiles at us. “Hi, I’m Doctor Phillips. How are you feeling? Your fiancé said that you slept well last night.”
