Page 74 of Ladybirds

Stop the bleeding. Keep it clean.

She helps him up, leads him down the hall with a hobbled gait. The bathroom is too small for the both of them—it’s a struggle to keep a respectable distance when the very walls seem to push them together. “The towels are in that cabinet there and, um, you can just use my shampoo if you want.”

She turns to look at him, but his eyes are trained on the mirror.

On his reflection.

“Oh,” she breathes, chest tight. “This is the first time since…?”

Seth nods before clearing his throat. “Yes.”

He continues to stare, his hand raising to his cheek as if he’s lost in the shape of his face. It strikes her as an intensely private moment—one she probably shouldn’t be witnessing—but he’s blocking the doorway and, well, despite the intimacy of the moment, he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with her being there.

She steps closer to him; their reflections standing side by side. “Well, it looks like you.”

It’s a weak joke, but he huffs on a laugh, his hand dropping from his face and eyes meeting hers. “That is a relief,” he murmurs, before turning back to his reflection. “It’s strange. I thought…” his words trail off, a frown furrowing the smooth skin between his brows. He seems entranced by the change. “Tell me, is it terrible that I don’t recognize myself?”

Sara’s hand folds around his own and he starts as if he had, in that moment, forgotten that he’s as human as she is. “No,” she says, bypassing the mirror to look at him directly. “But it is kind of sad.”

Seth swallows thickly, before he clears his throat and tears his eyes away from his reflection. “It is, isn’t it?”

The smile she offers is weak. “Do you need any help?”

“Undressing? No, I’m fairly certain I remember that much.”

Her face flames. “With the shower. Do you know how the knobs work?”

“I like to think myself capable of figuring it out.”

“And you won’t pass out, right? You’re not—”

“I promise you, I am fully capable of washing myself without further injury.”

“Right. Ok, yeah, but if you need anything—”

“You’ll come wash my back?”

She returns his teasing grin with a glare. “Please don’t die in the shower.”

“I shall try my very best.”

Sara nods, throat tight, before closing the bathroom door behind her. She sits with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her back against the door, and listens to his grumbled curses as he fiddles with the water temperature. Then she catches his pained gasp, and she flinches. She’s a second away from asking if he’s ok, when he gives a long exaggerated moan. Sara flushes, burying her face in her hands and muttering under her breath, “Oh my god.” She can still feel the imprint of his lips, the branding touch of his fingers. She really doesn’t need to add on to the list of ways he will haunt her.

He yells, voice picture clear over the sound of running water. “This is bloody brilliant. Why does anyone ever get out?!”

Sara takes a deep, calming breath—tries to cool the heat in her cheeks—and clears her throat. “There’s this thing called utility bills,” she yells back, grateful there’s no hitch in her voice to give her away. “And you only have about ten minutes before the hot water runs out.”

“That’s criminal!”

“Welcome to the real world, Casper.”

He comes out of the bathroom wearing the same blood stained trousers and holding the bottle of antiseptic wash she had stashed under the sink. Sara knows, even before she presses the cloth to his skin, that it’s going to hurt, but his reaction still makes her jump.

He hisses, body arching off the couch. “Bloody buggering—”

“Sorry!” she squeaks, hastily removing the rag. “Should I stop?”

His words pass through clenched teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he eyes the bottle in her hand venomously. “No. Pain is temporary, infection isn’t.” Seth lays his head back, eyes staring at the ceiling. “Be kind and get it done quickly.”

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