When I woke, the nightmares got even worse.
47
TJ banged on the hatch to my stateroom at the ass-crack of dawn.
“You alive in there?” he said in that Texas drawl.
I yawned and squeaked out, “I think so.”
“If you want breakfast, this train’s a rolling. I don’t have jack shit around here.”
I didn’t want to move. My body was fused to the mattress. My neck and face ached. “Okay. Give me just a minute.”
“That means a minute, not sixty.”
“Gotcha!”
I lay there like a teenager that won’t get out of bed.
I finally took a breath and forced myself. I staggered to my feet and stumbled toward the en suite. I shrieked with horror when I looked at the monstrosity in the mirror. It was worse than the night before. My eye was a tiny slit. My faceand cheek had taken on all the shades of the color wheel—black, blue, purple, green.
There was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t have any makeup. No concealer. My hair looked like birds could nest in it.
I splashed cold water on my face and washed some of the crusted blood away that had oozed from my lip during the night. I ran my fingers through my hair and did the best I could. This was going to have to be good enough.
TJ jumped with fright when I stepped into the salon. “Holy Jesus!”
“Thanks. You look good, too.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
I shook my head. “I’m an easy target in a hospital.”
TJ agreed. “I can’t take you out looking like that. People are going to think I’m a domestic abuser.”
I gave him a flat look. “You got me out of bed. Now I’m hungry.”
He rummaged through a few drawers and pulled out a pair of oversized sunglasses. “Try these on.”
They were Chanel glasses.
“Who left these behind?” I asked as I slipped them on.
“She who shall not be named.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
I chuckled, careful not to split my lip again. “How do I look?”
“Better. But still needs work.”
I huffed.
He darted down the companionway to his stateroom.
I called after him. “Beauty is in the imperfections.”