Page 45 of Unforgivable

They have a mirror.

Oh, crap.

I walk over on numb legs. Gripping the countertop, I cling with white knuckles to keep myself upright.

I'm... wounded. There's no other way to say it. This isn't a case of bedhead or pillow creases and drool on my cheeks.

It's been nearly threemonths. I look like I still need a hospital.

I release my death grip on the sink to press a hand to my chest over my pounding heart. Mindful of Sarj sleeping, I suppress the panicked howls my she-wolf is making in my head. A few whimpers escape, but I ignore them as best I can.

OK, Lyri. It's not that bad. Just... startling.

I look so ill. Thin and incredibly pale, which makes sense. It's wintertime. A pink scar, not yet white, stretches from my right ear and curls down the curve of my jaw all the way to my chin.

I have bags under my eyes. Lack of sleep and nightmares. My hazel eyes used to be brighter. Now, they're much darker, a soupy mix of green and brown that look almost black, like Thjis' eyes.

Another set of scars can be seen across my neck, disappearing down into my shirt. A set of four streaks from not-quite fully retracted claws. I don't take a closer look at it. My hair catches my attention. It's short, coming to brush against my shoulders. I had kept it long, even though I like it better this length. He likes long hair, or at least I assume he does because Cloe's hair is almost down to her butt.

There are tufts of shorter hair poking through the longer length. My stomach churns. It's growing back. They ripped hair straight from my scalp that night.

I grab the wastebasket with one hand and shut the door to the bathroom with the other. My eggs taste terrible coming back up. Mixing with my tears, I know I'm a mess.

This is why the males hid all the mirrors from me. Seeing the evidence for myself makes everything come tumbling back. Gasping for air, I slide down to the floor with my back against the door. I don't know how long I sit there, trying to control the sorrow.

It's Sarj who pulls me out of my self-pity. I hear him stirring in the bedroom, and I stand up and quickly splash water on my face and rinse out my mouth with some of the mouthwash on the counter. Thankfully, the little trash can has a bag in it, so I tie it off to take downstairs. I imagine I have Inuit to thank for that.

I walk out feeling like a truck ran me over a few times, but at least I'm able to face the five-year-old pup who is just beginning to whine for something to drink.

"Hey, tough male," I say to him, forcing my mouth to curve up into a grin.

"Lyri!" his little face cracks in a grin. He still looks flushed, and I could kick myself for not asking Thjis more questions. I've helped mom and dad take care of Penny and Tyler, but not when they are sick. What if Sarj gets worse?

Thjis said to keep him hydrated, so I run with that. "Do you want anything to drink?" I ask him.

He nods. "Some juice."

There's tomato juice on the nightstand. Still cool, with condensation puddling underneath the can. Not a typical choice, by any means, but Sarj happily takes a few sips.

"Better?"

He nods, laying back down. "Tell me another story?" he asks.

I curl up next to him and start talking. At least Sarj isn't bothered by my missing hair and new scars.

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