Page 3 of Light Up The Night
I close my eyes in relief, sighing. "Yes, thank you." I open my eyes and look at him. "Would you be offended if I remove my shoes?"
"I'll do you one better." He drops to a knee at my feet and slides my shoes off of my feet; he hisses. "Jesus fucks a monkey, Cadence. What the hell isthisshit?" He shows me my shoe, the inside of which is stained with blood from my blisters.
I blink at him. "That is an offensive statement."
He blinks back. "What is?"
"Your reference to Jesus…erm…fornicating…with a primate."
"You're a church-girl, huh?" he grimaces. "My bad, sorry." He shows my shoe again. "But for real, Cadence. You've just been standing around with your feet in this state? How are you functioning?" With strong but gentle fingers, he lifts my barefoot and examines my heel. "I mean,damn, girl. Your feet are shredded to hell. Wait here."
Not wishing to get blood on his nice leather couch, I place my bare feet on the cold wood of the floor and wait as instructed. He returns from the hallway, which I assume leads to the bedrooms and bathrooms, a white metal tin bearing a red cross logo in his hands; he also has a packet of unscented baby wipes, strangely enough.
He perches on the edge of the couch beside me, turns to face me, and pats his knee. "Foot."
I take that to mean he wishes me to put my foot on his leg, and I, shaking with nerves and fear and confusion, do as I am instructed. When he takes my foot in his hand, I jerk at his touch, inhaling sharply.
"Hey, hey," he murmurs, his tone soothing. "I'll be gentle, I promise."
I do not know how to begin explaining my sensory issues, let alone my aversion to being touched, and he is overwhelming me with his enormous size, his intense attractiveness, and his mere proximity. I force myself to breathe and to hold absolutely still, fixing my gaze resolutely on the couch between us so he cannot see—hopefully—that I am fighting an anxiety attack.
He does not seem to notice. He tugs a wipe free of the package, bringing several with it; he uses the baby wipe to clean the old, dried blood off my heel, and then wipes at my Achilles tendon and the bottom of my foot. His touch is exquisitely gentle, despite the strength and roughness of his hands.
"It has never occurred to me to use baby wipes in this fashion," I say.
He rolls a shoulder. "Use 'em for everything. They're super versatile."
Once both of my feet are cleaned of blood, he opens the first aid kit, hunts for and finds Neosporin, and applies it liberallyto my open blisters. Next, he expertly applies large square bandages to the back of each foot, adhered with medical tape.
"There," he says, gently settling my foot on the footrest. "Not as good as new, but hopefully a bit better. Best leave those shoes off, though."
I scrutinize his work with a professional eye. "You appear to have experience with minor injuries."
He chuckles. “Doin' the work I do, cuts and shit like that are par for the course. I always end up being the nurse on the job-site.” He glances at me, eyes widening. "Oh, shit, you're, like, an actual doctor, aren't you?" He dips his chin at me, which I, perhaps erroneously, interpret as a gesture at my foot, and his work. "I do okay for you, Doc? You can be critical. I won't cry."
"You did quite well. I cannot find anything to criticize.” I frown. "If I were to criticize your performance, however, I would like to think I would be kind enough that you would not need to cry."
He shakes his head, snorting quietly in a way that seems to be laughter. "You're a literal sorta gal, ain'tcha, Cadence?"
I nod. "Yes, quite so."
He laughs yet again—he laughs rather frequently, I am noticing. "You must watch a lot of Downton Abbey or somethin'."
I frown. "I do not watch television."
"Whaddya know? Me either. Too ADHD to sit around staring at a damn screen."
I feel a frisson of excitement. "You have ADHD?"
He shrugs. “Undiagnosed but pretty sure." He laughs, waves a hand. "I mean, can't sit still for more than a minute or two, can't focus on books or shit like that. I was always in trouble at school for daydreaming and goofin' off." His next laugh is a snort and a head shake that feels self-derogatory. "Good thing for me, I never had to finish school, huh?"
"University degrees are not necessary in order to be successful," I say, intending to be encouraging.
He tips his head to one side. “Yeah, that too."
I frown. "I do not understand what that means."
"Oh, well. I don't have a university degree. But I meantschool…as in high school." He pats my knee. "I came out here to see how you felt about dino nugs and mozzarella sticks."
