Page 12 of The Souls We Claim
Halo nods. “Her face. Fix any broken bones, eye damage, that cut on her face. Whatever.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I can?—”
Halo cuts me off by lifting me and placing me back on the medical bed like I weigh nothing more than a surplus throw cushion. “Just sit and let Switch do his job; he’s a medic. Switch, this is Arianne, Mercy’s sister. Came for the funeral.”
Switch turns back to me and smiles. “Well, hello, Arianne.” There’s a hint of flirtation to his tone.
“She’s Lola’s aunt. Married. And not to be fucked with.”
Switch studies Halo for a minute and grins before mock saluting. “Yes, sir.”
In a heartbeat, the humorous way in which he entered the room shifts. He presses and prods, apologizing when I hiss in pain. “I don’t think anything is broken, but we should get you an X-ray to be sure,” he says.
I huff a laugh. “I don’t have insurance, so there are no X-rays in my future. I’ll take your word. They usually heal quickly enough.”
“Usually?” Switch asks, his tone murderous. “Like this is more than a one-time thing?”
I think about Patrick, the man I met at nineteen and married at twenty, trying to see him through the lens of these men. “It’s complicated.”
We had good moments. More than the bad. Especially in the beginning. But nothing is ever perfect. The last year has been the worst.
“There’s nothing complicated when it comes to a guy’s fists hitting a woman’s face,” Halo says. “That’s lack of self-control and self-regulation at best. And being a sadistic cunt at worst. And as we discussed, you aren’t a masochist.”
“I’m just going to put a bit of numbing in your cheek so I can clean this out properly without it hurting, yeah?” Switch says.
The world starts to spin. I don’t know why. Adrenaline. Grief. Pain. The thought of a needle. “I feel a bit?—”
Before I can finish the sentence, Halo has pushed my head between my legs. “Breathe, Ari.”
I do as he says while his hands squeeze and release the back of my neck. I focus on the warmth of his touch. This stranger is showing me more kindness than Patrick has in the last twelve months of our three-year marriage.
My stomach rumbles loudly. It dawns on me that I haven’t eaten since before Penny’s call.
“Keep breathing,” he encourages.
When the spaciness passes, I sit, but Halo immediately lowers me down to the bed, his hand beneath my head as I touch the firm surface. “Switch can fix you up as easily here as he can with you sitting up.”
And with that, he leaves the room.
“Ready?” Switch asks.
“As I’ll ever be.” There is a slight prick, then another, but almost immediately, the worst of the ache in the side of my face begins to dissipate.
I close my eyes, partially to avoid the awkwardness of Switch’s face and fingers so close to mine, but also because I’m tired. I hadn’t thought past getting here. I haven’t considered the reality of where I’ll go or what I’ll do.
Switch is putting a dressing over my cheek when Halo enters the room holding a tall cup.
“Drink this,” he says as I sit up.
“What is it?”
“A smoothie. Just drink it.”
“I’m allergic to pineapple. There’s no pineapple in it, is there?”
Halo shakes his head. “Blueberries. Bananas. Chocolate protein powder. Vanilla ice cream. You were hungry and needed some food in your stomach to help handle today.”
He noticed that I hadn’t eaten. That my stomach rumbled.
