Page 138 of Branded
I was focused on that knot in my gut.
I was thinking about Beth’s reflection in the window and the tears on her cheeks.
I was locked on how scared she’d looked in that hospital bed, her expression completely unguarded because she’d thought she’d been alone. I was fixed on how her expression had then become guarded, exuding faux calm went the nurse and doctor had bustled in.
Then became vulnerable again after they’d left.
Beth didn’t do vulnerable.
She was big old brass balls and red lipstick. Tall ass heels and tight skirts.
She was…sleeping on her side on her big purple suede couch, a blanket over her, hands tucked up under her face.
Soft.
So fucking beautiful she was nearly angelic.
Her breathing was slow and steady. I saw that Pru and Marcel had put everything within arm’s reach—water, snacks, e-reader, TV remote, laptop, and all their respective chargers. They’d even cleared a path to the bathroom, rearranging the furniture so Beth could always have a hand on something if she needed to make her way while no one was with her.
I should have gone then.
She was asleep and settled, made safe by her friends.
But…no one was with her.
I got that it was probably her own doing, that she was stubborn and wouldn’t want her friends to worry.
But…no one was with her.
So instead of moving quietly out her front door, replacing the key in that dumb fake rock outside, I moved to the big purple armchair and sank down.
And then I watched Beth sleep.
With one eye open, on full alert for any bit of movement, of distress on her part.
And then, eventually, with both eyes closed as exhaustion overtook me.
A groan.
A gasp.
A moan.
I frowned, started to roll over in bed, and then realized I wasn’t lying down. I was sitting up, my neck stiff and aching.
And I was in Beth’s house.
Early morning light was filtering in through the windows.
Minus sleeping upright, the ugly-ass purple chair was comfortable, and it actually fit me, which was a rarity. Usually, I set my ass on a chair and hoped the spindly fucker didn’t collapse. So I certainly hadn’t expected a suede purple chair to be anything but a lesson in feminine discomfort.
Bitter?
Fuck yeah, I was.
But when I had a mom like I’d had, when I’d been with the women I had…
Feminine discomfort was a common experience.
