Page 119 of A Sin So Pure

IMOGEN

Nora slinks into the living room well past sunset.

She pauses in the doorway, gaze tracking between Josie and me nursing our teas on the velvet lounger. Her throat bobs in the silence. Then she continues deeper into the room, dumping a medical kit onto the side table next to the loveseat.

Nora passes us, headed straight to the bar cart. Pouring herself a dram of whiskey, she throws it back, refilling the glass before bringing it—and the whole decanter—to the armchair next to us. She slouches into the leather, placing the bottle next to the med kit.

“Stop giving me that look,” Nora snaps, and I realize she and Josie must be having another one of their silent conversations.

Josie stands with her mug, placing a gentle squeeze on my shoulder.

“I think it’s time I head to bed,” she says. She shoots me a soft smile. “Goodnight, Imogen.”

“Goodnight,” I murmur back over another sip of my tea.

It’s lukewarm now, my sips too slow to catch the heat when Josie first brought it up for me. She’d moved me to Nora’s couch after my breakdown, both of us needing a change of scenery. Apuzzle sits half-finished on the coffee table; we gave up thirty minutes ago, our brains too zapped from the day.

“Be nice,” I hear Josie whisper to Nora as she leaves the room.

And then we’re alone.

Nora doesn’t meet my eye as she downs her second glass of liquor. She hisses and shakes her head as it goes down. Without saying a word, she discards her empty glass and takes the med kit into her lap. Opening the metal tin, she rifles through the materials, taking out gauze pads, bandage tape, a small pot of salve, and a bottle of antiseptic.

“Come here.” She beckons me closer, still not quite meeting my eye.

The healing tonic Wes gave me only healed my bullet wound. The doctor said that it took all the magic in the tonic to repair whatever damage lingered from the blood loss, because I’m still covered in small scrapes on my face and hands. He already cleaned the wounds, pulled out shards of glass and washed the dirt from my palms, but I would need to change the bandages soon.

I slide across the couch, my knees bumping up against Nora’s. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pinch of relief that she doesn’t shy away from the point of contact.

“Hands,” she demands, holding out hers.

I place one in her grasp, and she carefully unravels the bandages there. The soft crackle of the fireplace fills the silence between us as Nora reveals the raw red scratches. She wets a piece of gauze with antiseptic.

“This may burn,” she warns before pressing the damp gauze to my skin, pulling a hiss from between my teeth.

I bite down on my bottom lip as she quickly wipes off the dried blood and puss the wound expelled. With gentle fingers, she applies a salve to the cuts. She covers it with a fresh gauzepad and tapes over the edges so there’s a tight seal against the outside world.

She takes her time, is methodical in her care.

My eyes droop as she repeats her work on my other hand, and when she stops, my body mourns the loss of her touch.

“These shouldn’t scar. But make sure to change the bandages and reapply a salve twice a day. I’ll send you home with a jar and some extra gauze pads,” she says, lithe hands quickly placing each item back into its rightful spot in the little metal tin.

I place a hand over hers, trapping it against her thigh.

“Why don’t you keep it? That way I have an excuse to come over every day.”

Nora finally looks up, and I’m struck by how sad her eyes are. The deep green has darkened to moss, dulled by guilt.

“You don’t need an excuse to come over.” She almost sounds defeated, a tone I’ve never heard from her before. She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. For tonight.”

“For which part?” I ask. “For blowing up at Josie or storming out?”

“Both?” She grimaces.

“Why did you leave?” I ask, my throat tightening for the umpteenth time today. I try to swallow the reaction back. I’m tired of the emotional whiplash the past twelve hours have given me. “I needed you and you left me.”

“Because I had nothing good to say, and I didn’t know how to comfort you,” Nora admits. “When I get like that…” She shakes her head, face contorting into a pained expression. “It’s overwhelming. Like an avalanche inside my body that I can’t stop. I need to let it run its course.”

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