Page 17 of When the Smoke Clears

Getting my right arm loose isn’t a problem, but the left tugs at my wound and I hiss, pulling it into the shirt. I focus on my breathing as emotions and pain war within me, shoving the tee off my head.

Through the mirror, I examine the gauze. It’s easier to look there. A soft entry to visualizing what’s happened to me. My chest tightens, an unpleasant electric energy pulsing through me. I shut my eyes to calm my rolling stomach.

Colt’s heavy breathing crashes through my head. I can practically feel the flames from the fire pit licking the air. A phantom twinge yanks at the sutured area, like being stabbed a second time.

I drop my head forward, bracing myself against the cool countertop with both hands, before finally giving in and looking directly at the covered space on my body.

It isn’t bloody from the outside. The adhesive from the tape holds strong, tugging as I slowly peel it from the sensitive skin. Although I would love nothing more than to rip this shit off and get it over with, something tells me that won’t help the pain any, and it may risk the stitches.

When the bandage is fully removed, I take in the damage. My skin is red and puckered around the stitched puncture, but it’s nothing worrisome.

Leading with my back into the water, I finally step into the spray. The warmth is appreciated, but the water trickling over the front of my body stings when it reaches the stitches. Another hiss escapes my mouth.

Apparently, I’m part snake now.

I fill my lungs almost to the point of discomfort before I lean my head back, soaking my hair through. When I right my head and glance down, pink swirls in the water and disappears down the drain. My stomach turns. Again, I push it away and focus on one task at a time.

The comfort that fills me when I pop open Sutton’s shampoo and inhale his scent is instant. Relief, like coming home. Ironically, this all started with a homecoming. One that was painful in a different way.

It’s a feat to wash my hair with mostly one arm, but I use my left when entirely necessary and eventually manage to rinse. The soapy water runs over my healing wound, and I scrub too hard and for too long over the rest of my body, trying to rid myself of the shame and disgust that live inside me now.

I would love to scrub the stitched area from the inside out. To eradicate any part of Colt that managed to infiltrate my body without my permission, and even the parts that I allowed willingly.

Another wave of nausea passes through me. Disgust at myself, disgust at the situation, disgust at the revelations.

When I finally exit the shower, I pat softly at my tender side before drying the rest of my body.

All of my clothes are sitting in the bottom of Sutton’s closet. Something I think he’s been counting on while I’ve been hiding in here. I wrap the towel loosely around me, not bothering to dry my sopping hair, and open the bathroom door.

As promised, Sutton sits on my side of the bed, facing me. He’s always been attentive, knowing just what I need when I need it, or even before I’ve realized. But in this moment, he looks hesitant, and that’s painful in a new way.

“Hi.” I lean against the doorframe.

He smirks and moves toward me, wearing only his boxer briefs. “Hi, yourself.”

I take my time looking him over.

He toys with the tangled strands of my hair as it drips onto the towel around my body. “I guess you want to get dressed now.”

“Were you planning to hold my clothes hostage?”

“No. Just making sure you behave.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

His face turns serious, and he encroaches on me against the doorframe. “Yes.”

His lips brush mine in a whisper of a kiss, and I immediately want more. I know better, though. He’s not giving in.

“I’m going to help you with a fresh bandage and clothes, and then I’m going to get you coffee.”

My right hand flies to my chest dramatically and I gasp. “My hero!”

Something crosses his face, but he schools it quickly and shakes his head. “Come on.”

He chaperones me to the bed, seating me near the head so I can point out clothing for the day. Despite my firm belief that it’s unwarranted, I allow him to dress me. Something in his worried eyes tells me he needs it more than me.

Then he sets to brushing my hair, ignoring all of my refusals, before situating me back onto the bed with the excessive pillows stuffed around me.

---