Page 92 of Seduced By You

“No.”

“Okay.” I lifted my arm. This time it worked. I touched my face.

“What’s this?” I pressed against a thick wad of what felt like cotton wool. Spongy. Soft.

“It’s a dressing.” She moved my arm back to the bed. “Try not to touch it. We don’t want it getting infected.”

“A dressing? What dressing?”

“To protect the stitches.”

Stitches?I had stitches? In my face?

“You had a deep cut to your cheek. And you’ve had your spleen removed.” She held my hand. “You’re also concussed. Are you sure you don’t want me to get the young man? It’s a lot to take in.”

I shook my head. “I’d like to use the bathroom.”

“I can get you a bedpan.” The horror must’ve shown on my face because she laughed. “Okay, no bedpan. But you’ll need to take it steady. We don’t want you to fall.”

Easing back the covers, she helped me upright. My midsection protested, a sharp pain sucking the air from my lungs. I hissed, clutching at my middle.

“Christ, that hurts.”

“It will for a week or so. But you’ll soon recover. A fast recovery is one of the benefits of keyhole surgery. Plus, you’re young and fit. You’ll be back to normal in no time.” She placed my feet on the floor. “Sit there for a minute. Let your blood pressure equalize. It’ll drop if you stand up too quickly, and that’ll make you feel nauseous and light-headed.”

I took several deep breaths and, with the nurse’s help, stood without my legs giving way. The IV line was attached to a pole with what I guessed was a saline solution giving me fluids. I gripped the pole with one hand and the nurse with the other and made it to the attached bathroom without incident.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” she said. “Pull on that red cord if you need me. And don’t lock the door.”

Nodding, I shut myself inside. Bracing my hands on the sink, I steeled myself for what I was about to see. Stitches in my face meant only one thing. A permanent scar. Even the most proficient plastic surgeon couldn’t entirely remove a scar. The question was, how bad was it?

Only one way to find out.

I picked at the edge of the white tape and slowly peeled the thick wad of gauze away from my right cheekbone.

My lungs expelled a gasp of air. That wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me.

It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.Iwas the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.

My nostrils flared, sweat breaking out on my skin. I closed my eyes.Go away. Go away. Go away.I opened them. Nothing had changed.

Nothing. Had. Changed.

The black stitches taunted me.Haunted me.I pounded my fists against my thighs.

Well, Leesa. You got what you wanted. No one will ever call you pretty again. Happy now?

A laugh burst out of me. I thrust my hands into my hair, pulling, tearing. Hysteria. I edged on the right side of sanity to recognize it. The muscles in my legs went limp. I caught the edge of the sink in time to cushion my fall. Hugging my knees to my chest, I let the tears come.

“Oh, chérie.” The nurse crouched beside me. Hooking her hands underneath my armpits, she helped me to stand. She stuck the gauze back in place, pressing on the sticky part until it stayed there. “Let’s get you back in bed, shall we?”

She posed it as a question, but it wasn’t one. Not really. I did as I was told. No point in fighting. What was I fighting for? The person I’d been? The one I’d wished others would see for more than her looks?

I’d lived almost my entire life under the spotlight, surrounded by people who gushed over my physical appearance. Now, I imagined they’d turn away. Disgusted. Horrified, even. The funny thing was, I’d guarantee I’d still get judged for my looks, but for different reasons. Ugly as opposed to beautiful.

I turned to the window. It was snowing. Huge blobs of the white stuff. So pretty. So perfect. I squeezed my eyes closed. I couldn’t stand to see the beauty in nature.

“I’ll leave you in peace. Call me if you need anything.”

---