Page 47 of Pretty Cruel Love

She turns around with a mouthful of Q-Tips and tubes of treatment creams in her hand.

“You don’t have to use all of those on me,” I say. “Just one of each is good enough.”

“Do you want my help or not, Doctor?”

I smile. “I do, Patient.”

“Then can you please hold off on your condescension until I’m finished?”

“My apologies.” I watch as she gets on her knees before me and gently dabs my cut with a Q-tip. Whenever our eyes meet, her cheeks flush a deep red.

“How did you hurt yourself?” she asks, her voice soft. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I came back here,” I say. “I have a very high tolerance for pain.”

“For someone who demands that all his questions are thoroughly answered, you sure do suck at answering them from other people.”

“Noted.” I hold back a laugh. “Knowing that I wouldn’t have any free time for a while, I went to a bar and—” I wince as she presses the cold tip of her finger against the edges of the cut, freeing a shard of glass from my skin.

“I’m sorry…” she mutters, sensing my soreness.

“I didn’t realize I was sitting in a customer’s so-called favorite booth, but I refused to move because I was there first,” I say. “He approached me in the parking lot with a bottle.”

“Did you call 9-1-1?”

“I pulled a bat from my trunk,” I say. “I’m sure someone called the ambulance for him, though... I didn’t realize how bad the wound was until I took off my shirt.”

She nods. “Thank you for thoroughly answering.”

“You’re welcome.” I watch as she pulls a needle and thread from the kit and carefully sews my skin.

I’m actually impressed with her technique…

It’s not until she’s spreading the third layer of gel atop the stitches that I realize she’s stalling on purpose.

I don’t mind in the slightest, but I can sense the reason isn’t for me.

“I think it’s fine now,” I say, gently grabbing her wrist. “Thank you.”

“You need a layer of antibiotic cream.” She jumps up and grabs it from the toolkit. “And maybe I can also look at the bigger wound? Make sure it’s free from bits of glass?”

“I can assure you it’s fine.”

“But—”

“Why are you stalling?” I ask.

“I’m not, I—” The deer-in-headlights look on her face is a dead giveaway. “I just want to be sure you’re alright.”

“Sadie.” I join her at the sink, caging her in between my arms. “Tell me the truth.”

“You shouldn’t be this close to me,” she whispers. “The cameras.”

“There aren’t any cameras on my side of the cabin.” I pin her in place with my hips, making sure she can’t move. “Why would I ever allow that?”

“I really just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m more than okay,” I say. “It’s time to tell me why you’re not, though.”

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