Page 5 of Nothing To Lose
She raises an eyebrow. "Theheyou didn't see, you mean?"
Swallowing, I avert my eyes and nod.
"You know, a lot of crimes go unreported because the victim knew their attacker. Quite often, they don't feel safe reporting it when it's someone close to them…" She trails off, acting nonchalant, as though I can’t tell she’s trying to talk me into saying more.I don't say anything. Maybe she doesn't understand that ifvictimsdon't want to name who hurt them, it might be for a good reason.
Victim.
Aisha doesn't press, only goes about her business fixing the bandage on my hand before setting up a tray so the doctor can stitch up the gash near my temple and one on the back of my thigh. I'm covered in cuts and bruises, but those are the only ones deep enough to need stitches. My ribs ache, but not as much as my face. I can barely see out of my left eye, I've got a fat lip, and my cheek is swollen and throbbing.
"Whoever did this to you deserves to rot in jail," Aisha mutters as she finishes bandaging my cheek.
There's a tap on the door, and a head pokes in. "Um, hi?”
Oh.Itishim.
“Officer Hendrick said you're awake and it was okay to come back. Is that…” His deep voice pauses and he looks from me to the nurse tentatively. “Is it okay?”
My mouth is dry. I must look horrified or surprised beyond comprehension because Aisha steps in front of me and gives me a questioning look. "Is he okay?" she mouths.
"Yeah," I croak, finding my voice again. "It's okay."
Truthfully, I don't want to see anyone. More than that, I don't want anyone to seeme. Not like this. I haven't seen my face, but judging by the way every doctor and nurse has looked at me and the throbbing pain, I know it's bad. I'm going to start advocating for living in the moment, because all I can think about is all the chances I had to approach him but lost my nerve, and now this is going to be his first impression of me. No—second—because the first was me spilling my drink all over him and running away like an asshole.
Though he was the one to find me, I suppose he's already seen me at my worst. The look of pity on his handsome features hurts more than my busted lip when I try to force an awkward smile.
My tattooed hottie. Of course, it had to be him. I've been avoiding him, assuming he'd be pissed at me for making a mess of him that day. I mean, what was I supposed to say?Sorry I was distracted looking at your butt, then ran into you and threw my iced chai oat milk latte all over your chest! My bad!
To make it worse, I stood there like an idiot staring at the liquid soaking into the front of his henley for far too long, and how said henley was tightly stretched across his strong chest. Once I got a look at his strained expression, the way his inky black eyes bore into mine like he was trying to read my thoughts, I gaped like a fish and ran the other way.
In my defense, he's a bit scary looking. He's at least a few inches taller than my five-foot-ten frame and easily twice as wide as me. He's not bulky, exactly. Just not scrawny like I am. His forearms, hands, and neck are covered in tattoos, and he has piercings in his ears, nose, and one eyebrow. And if the tight, wet fabric of his white shirt wasn't lying to me that day, his nipples are pierced too.
There are a lot of thoughts and feelings vying for first place right now. Blushing is certainly not an appropriate response, no matter how mortified I am. There are so many more appropriate things to say or do. Should I apologize? Thank him? Stare blankly into the abyss to avoid making eye contact or having to answer any more questions?
He deserves more than that.But the only thing I can manage is, "You?"
"Isaac," he says, pulling his eyes away from the bandages and meeting my gaze. "My name is Isaac. Isaac Casey." His voice is soft, but deep. I have the ridiculous urge to press my ear against his chest while he speaks so I can feel the rumbling.
"You…found me?"
"Yeah," he says, running tattooed fingers through his messy hair. "You were—uh—it happened…" He doesn't seem to know what to say. "You were in the alley behind my building."
"Your building?"
"The old brick building down the block fromThe Nook."
"Oh."
Isaac nods and looks around uncomfortably. I eye the chair against the wall near the hospital bed.
"Do you want to sit down?" He looks tired. My rattled brain wants to invite him to lie down and take a nap, but that would definitely be weird.Why did he stay?
I have so many questions for him, but I'm so tired, and my head is throbbing.
"I don't want to intrude or anything. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. The officer said you were awake, so…"
I sit up too fast and wince, my head and my ribs protesting the quick movement. "What did you tell him?"
"What?"
