Page 55 of Love Him Like Water

Deciding to leave her where she was, I went into the bathroom, finding the plastic container I had jam-packed with medical supply shit because my lifestyle required a lot of that sort of thing, then filled the small container in it with warm water, grabbed a washcloth, and headed back out to her.

She hadn’t moved, like she was frozen, like she was maybe in a bit of shock.

Who the fuck could blame her?

Getting attacked on the fucking street.

I dipped the washcloth in the water, wincing a bit as I looked at her lip. “This isn’t going to feel great,” I warned her, getting a little nod before I started to carefully dab at her lip, then wiping the blood off of her face and neck, before working on her hands.

Finding an individual plastic tube of saline, I used that to clean her lip, then her hands, before drying her with some gauze, and wiping some ointment onto her hands.

I hemmed and hawed at her lip, not wanting her to ingest any of the ointment.

“I’m gonna leave your lip alone for now,” I said. “It’s not bleeding, so if you’re careful, it shouldn’t open back up. No big smiles or straws,” I said, though I doubted she would be smiling for a while after this.

That motherfucker…

No.

I had to focus.

“Okay,” she said, voice small.

“Are your teeth alright?” I asked, looking at the bruise.

“Yeah. My head hurts,” she said, shrugging.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I got something for that,” I said, reaching into the box for a bottle of prescription pain pills.

I wanted her to sleep.

For unselfish reasons. To heal. To not lie awake feeling scared.

But for selfish ones too.

Because I needed to know she was out cold and not needing me.

So I could find this bastard.

She took the pill numbly, swallowing it with a sip of water from the glass on her nightstand.

“He took all I had,” she murmured, seeming to be talking to herself as I cleaned up my mess.

“What was that?” I asked, sure I misheard her as I put the lid back on the plastic container. “Lore?” I pressed when she didn’t answer.

“He took all I had left,” she said. Then, sensing my lack of comprehension, “All my money,” she added.

“All your money?” I repeated, confused for a second.

Before it occurred to me just how much I’d been fucking all this shit up.

All the money she had.

Meaning she had some, likely small, stash of cash she’d brought with her. And she’d been using that to, I dunno, buy her books or whatever she was doing all day long when I wasn’t around.

All the money she had, I repeated to myself, pissed at my own fucking incompetence as I went toward the dresser, opening a drawer, reaching in, pulling out a stack of cash, and putting it down on the top.

Another drawer and stack.

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