Page 146 of Roses Are Dead
“She’s trying to get a picture of the burns.” Tits handed Bear the phone in her hand as if he were interested in the photos she’d taken. He barely gave it a glance.
“Go outside, no one in. Got it?”
Tits huffed out, “They’re going to think you’re killing her.”
“Say it louder so the central desk can hear you.”
“I might,” she fired back.
“Just guard the door.” Under his breath he added, “Damn woman.”
“Was that directed at her, or me?” I asked.
“Your hearing’s getting better,” he muttered.
“At least something is.” I tugged the string again. “Help.”
He grunted and set Tits’s phone down as he let me lean on his chest while he undid my hospital gown. But he kept it in place as he checked my face for clues. “Are you sure about this?”
I was. I wanted to capture the beauty of the marks before they became worse, or faded. “Yes. Can you handle that?”
His nostrils flared as if scenting the challenge I’d laid down. “I can.” But his jaw was tight and his mood anything but happy.
“Do it.”
He carefully moved my hair out of the way. The strands were haphazardly unequal. A fraction of the length escaped butchery, but the main body of it angled sharply where the blade had sliced through. “Did you find my athame?”
“I went up there with Sketch and his metal detector today. Found it.”
I sighed with relief. “I hope the rain didn’t ruin it.”
He laughed tightly. “No, but I sent it to Fin.”
That was curious. “Why?”
“Later. Are you sure you want to do this?”
I nodded.
He pulled my gown away and let it pile on my lap. His eyes traced the threads of red lines that shot wildly about in branches of scarring.
The cold air felt good. I breathed deeply, taking in the relief of having nothing touching my skin.
“That’s damn beautiful.”
But that wasn’t what his face said. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just… fuck…” His eyes met mine. “It’s everywhere. You should be dead.” There was fear in those dark depths.
“I know.” That’s what everyone told me today. How lucky I was. How amazing my recovery was. How miraculous it was that my heart hadn’t stopped, or my body hadn’t boiled from the inside out. I was a living breathing tribute to the one in a million people who get hit by lightning in a year. And of that, while 90 percent survived, rarely was a direct hit survivable. Most of the victims were near, but not at the point of contact.
My skin prickled from the chill, bringing pain with it. “Take those pictures.”
Bear glanced at Tits’s phone. “Like hell am I letting her see this.” He dug out his own phone and began taking photos.
I rolled onto my stomach, getting my left arm slightly tangled as I did so, and an alarm blared. He snapped the photo right as a nurse barged in with Tits on her tail.
“You can’t be in here.” She fussed with the machine that was blaring. “And you, shouldn’t be rolling around with your…whatever he is.” Under her breath she was saying more, but I couldn’t make it out. I looked to Bear for insight.
