Page 115 of Fallen Empire
Millie just shrugged. “It’s Jaxson. I don’t know what else you expected.”
“I guess I’ll be finding out,” I said under my breath as I started to step forward.
“Wait, Vannah…”
I looked up. That’s when I saw it—lined neatly across the counter, like a makeshift triage station: waterproof bandages, surgical gauze, ointments, medical tape. Everything you’d need to patch someone up.
“They changed the dressings around your body like clockwork in the hospital,” Millie said, her voice quieter now. “But I don’t think you ever really saw them, did you?”
I didn’t answer, because she was right.
They handled it all while I was hooked up to machines, half-asleep or too numb to care. Normally after my physical therapy sessions and lots of pain medication. I hadn’t seen the full picture because I hadn’t wanted to.
She held up a waterproof covering. “Let’s seal the chest first. Your stitches can’t get wet.”
I nodded, numbly lifting my arms as she applied the first bandage, careful and steady.
She’d placed several more around my body, some in places I couldn’t even see. I nodded when she was finally done. I exhaled slowly, the kind of breath you take before walking into something you know was going to be painful. Necessary, but painful all the same.
“I think I’ve got it from here. I can sit while I clean up.”
“Sure. But I’m not leaving. I’ll be right there.” She pointed to a second stool positioned just outside the glass door—no doubt one he’d placed there so he could be close by when I needed help bathing.
As the warm water rinsed the last of the conditioner from my hair, I leaned my head back and sighed. It felt good to be clean. To feel somewhat human again.
Millie’s voice cut through the steam, casual and soft. “When you get out, I can run and grab us some coffee, if you want. That little cafe down the street has the best breakfast platter. Bacon, eggs, oatmeal…”
My stomach growled so loud I was sure it echoed off the tile.
She laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“That actually sounds amazing,” I admitted, mouth watering. “But you really think the boys will let you out by yourself?”
“I’m not the one on house arrest,” she teased through the door.
Touché.
I turned the knob off and pushed the droplets of water from my face. Within seconds, Millie cracked the shower door open and handed me a towel. The thing swallowed me whole, plush and warm, drying most of my skin in one sweep.
I stepped out carefully, water still dripping from my hair as I scanned the room. “I uhhh…”
Millie didn’t even wait for me to finish. She crouched down and pulled a hair dryer from under the sink, holding it up like it was some kind of prize. “Looking for this?”
“Thanks,” I murmured, walking over.
“Sit down, I’ll get your hair started while you get changed. I’ve already seen you at your worst—don’t worry about modesty now.”
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then I nodded, walking over with the towel still wrapped tightly around me.
But as I took the last step and slowly loosened it to pull on the fresh clothes she’d set out, my eyes flicked toward the mirror, and everything stopped.
I saw myself.
All of me.
