Page 10 of Savage Beauty

The doctors and nurses have told me this. My bad for forgetting about the IV in my hand. Dried blood colors the underside of the milky white medical tape.

“You tried to rip it out earlier. Does it hurt?”

“Everything hurts.”

“Let me get a nurse for some pain medicine. They cut you off this morning.”

“No.” I inhale deeply and rest my hand on my thigh, eyes sealed shut. “I don’t want pain meds.”

“I get that. I’m not a huge fan of them either. At least, I don’t like it when they put me off my game. What was the dehydration about? Did they withhold water?”

Bile rises in the back of my throat as I visualize the water bottle I drank from. Thin, crinkly plastic with a green label. Not again. “Anton poisoned the water. I couldn’t trust them.”

“Was he there with you in Cambodia?”

“Not for long. The water out of the pipes was tinged brown. It needed to be boiled.”

“That sucks.”

If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d laugh at the Jolly Green Giant’s succinct way of summarizing the situation.

My eyelids are closed but damn this pain. And what’s worse, a tanned, hairy beast occupies the space behind my eyelids. I can’t believe I thought that monster was handsome. From here on out, I’m sticking with nerdy scientists. Maybe someone has done a study on that. How would you structure it? Group men by physical attributes, IQ, and career, then rank prowess in the bedroom, and what…likelihood to kidnap someone and stick them on a sailboat?

Heavy footfalls pace the room.

Bep. Bep. Bep.

Stir. Stir.

Is he dragging his feet?

Nausea swirls, and the discomfort extends from my throat to my abdomen. Peeking through eyelid slivers, I make out his dark, bulky form. I could ask him to leave, but I don’t want to be taken again.

“Can you not move?”

“Sure. Sure. Sorry.” He plops down in the armchair by my bed with a round of loud squeaks. The squeaks stop, replaced by an air noise. I crack an eye. He’s breathing. Too loudly.

As if that’s not enough noise, he sighs and stretches. His back cracks with his stretch.

“You don’t have to stay here. Go back to the hotel.” I’ve spent much of my life in hospital chairs. They suck. At one point, I considered medical school, but my hatred of hospitals diverted me onto another path.

“Nah. I’m happy hanging out here.”

“I don’t want you to stay here.” The most direct approach is the most effective approach, and while I do like the safety of him, the man is far too loud. He is a noise creator.

“I get that,” he says. “But Knox and Sage won’t rest easy if you’re alone.”

“But you’re loud. And it hurts.” The tips of my fingers knead my temples so he shouldn’t require further explanation.

“Tell you what. Let me get you some pain meds. I get not wanting to feel groggy, but you’re already groggy, right? You’re not going anywhere for the rest of the day. You might as well sleep. I’ll stay here. I’ll be on lookout. And if you’re sleeping, you won’t hear me.”

The chair squeaks because he probably can’t be quiet. But he’s made some good points. The pain is awful. With the nausea, it must be a migraine. My skin hurts.

“What do you say?”

He’s waiting for me to consent. I suppose pain meds in a supervised setting are acceptable. “Yes. Okay.” His shadow remains. “Please.”

Minutes later, a second pair of footsteps, lighter and without as much sliding noise, accompany his heavy footfalls.

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