Page 28 of For Her Own Good

“Really, I’m fine. You don’t need to stay. I’m going to have to manage on my own tomorrow, aren’t I?”

Lowry’s face gets that stern set, the one that makes my stomach flip. “The last time you told me you were fine, you passed out ten seconds later. And while I can’t do anything about you being alone tomorrow, I can do something about you being alone tonight. Your stubbornness has served you well, but it’s not doing you any favors right now. So, for the love of God, Starla, let me look after you for a bit.”

Look after me? My eyelids sink closed, and I hope he mistakes it for trying to summon patience instead of what it really is, which is me trying not to die of happiness and break down in tears because my feelings are rioting and I can’t manage them all at once.

“Fine.”

I turn on my heel and head over to my armoire, pulling out some pajamas, and then walk into the bathroom. Peeling off my jeans to use the toilet is an exercise in how many swear words I know, and I feel sick at how much it hurts when my knuckles graze over where I landed on my hip. Taking my sweater and bra off isn’t much better. And while I manage to pull on my softest pajama pants with a minimum of wanting to die, the top is far more complicated.

Everything hurts and I can’t bend my elbow correctly, and it’s so frustrating that I want to throw shit. If I were here by myself, I’d shove one arm into my bathrobe—both if I could swing it—and collapse. I’m not alone, however, which is both a boon and a curse. A curse because I can’t half put on my bathrobe and then have a tantrum in my bed. A boon because…perhaps I could actually ask for help and not be stuck in an uncomfortable bathrobe all night. Imagine that.

Swallowing every ounce of pride I possess, I crack the door.

“Lowry?”

“Yeah?”

His footsteps sound on the wood and the rug, carrying him closer until I’m guessing he’s right outside the door.

“I…I need help.”

“Of course. What do you need? Can I grab you something?”

If only. My cheeks heat and I want to shrivel up, but on top of being wrung out and in pain, I’m cold now too.

“No. I…I can’t put my shirt on. The sleeves, and the… Putting it over my head, I can’t…”

Rage and embarrassment thicken my throat, and Jesus Christ. Is there not someone else who could use a lesson in humility more than me?

It might be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure there’s a swallow on the other side of the door.

“Sure. I’ve got your tea ready when you’re dressed.”

Perfect.

I stand there, hand on the doorknob, eyes shut, head leaning against the door, and it would be great if I could stay here forever. That would also be a perfectly good solution. Use a bath towel as a cloak so my goose bumps would go away. I’m so tired I could probably fall asleep like this, and everything would be perfectly fine.

“Starla?”

Shit.

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to come out? Or would you like me to come in?”

Right. No matter how much I’d like to, I can’tactuallystand here until Lowry leaves. I may be stubborn as hell, but I have proof he can be just as bullheaded. There was more than one session during which we sat in silence the whole time. Because he’s an asshole. An asshole who I’m keeping from his own bed and a good night’s sleep by being ridiculous.

So I grab a bath towel, wrap it around myself as well as I can, and push open the door with my shirt in my hand.

He takes it wordlessly and has an entirely blank expression. Do they teach that in med school? How not to be fazed by anything? Whether they do or not, he’s got it down pat, and he looks completely neutral as he shakes out my shirt and finds the neck.

“Ready?”

As if I need to give him permission to dress me for bed when it is a thing I want more than almost anything else in this world. But I nod because he’s trying to be kind and I did, after all, ask for this.

He stretches out the neck of my shirt and eases it over my head, careful to not graze the part of my skull where a lump is forming and it’s tender to the touch. I offer up my good arm, but he shakes his head.

“Probably easier to do the other one first. More wiggle room, aye?”

---