Page 43 of The Unbecoming

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“I really don’t want to have to break your door down, Nora. Can you unlock it?”

“Uh,” I say, sitting up to look around. “Yeah. Hold on.”

I get out of the tub and toss my phone on the counter before grabbing a hand towel to press against my thigh. This allows me to walk to my door without bleeding everywhere.

I flip the deadbolt before stepping back to let him in. “Oh, Nora,” he sighs when he steps in. He has a duffle bag with him, but he easily scoops me up and walks me to the bedroom. When he sets me on the bed, he opens his bag and sits next to me.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I don’t know what else to say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Understand that if this is deep enough that I have to take you to the hospital, I can’t prevent them from placing you under a psych hold, okay?”

“Okay,” I say quietly.

Owen looks at me for a moment longer with his hand over mine before carefully pulling the towel off my thigh. “It’s not too bad,” he says. “I can glue it.”

“You don’t have to. I can…” I start to say, but I stop when he looks at me.

“Because of the location or because you don’t want help?” he asks.

“Location?” I ask, but then I realize what he means. “Oh… No, it's just that Liam was the last one to help me and… Well, people who care about me die… So… I’d like for you to remain alive.”

“You can’t live your life worried that everyone around you is going to die, Nora,” he says. “I need to apply pressure to this to get it to stop bleeding. Let me know if I hurt you, okay?”

“Mhmm.” I sigh and lie back on my bed.

I am very aware that I cut high on my thigh, and that means he is getting a whole show of everything I’ve got to offer.

Owen replaces the towel with gauze before pressing down, making me wince in pain.

“This is not the kind of pain I pictured with you this close to my pussy,” I say through gritted teeth. Owen smiles at me, and it looks so damn innocent. I want to fucking corrupt him.

The realization hits me hard that I am absolutely attracted to him. It might just be that hypersexuality is how I cope. I groan and drape my arm over my face, and he chuckles.

Fuck, does he know that I am turned on while he is over here crushing my fucking leg?

I gasp when he pulls me closer to the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of me. “Breathe, Nora,” he says. “I’m going to glue this and then help you get dressed.”

“Aww. Not into my pussy being on display?” I ask. “Don’t answer that. Ignore my slutty comments.”

“How can I help?” he asks.

“Owen, don’t play with me,” I groan.

“I’m serious. You are obviously struggling with this. So, how can I help?” he asks, pulling the gauze off. He looks at my leg for a moment before he grabs something from the bag.

“Shouldn’t you have gloves on?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow at me before pulling gloves out and putting them on. “Oh.”

“You’re deflecting,” he says. “Have you considered masturbation?”

“You are entirely too close to my vagina to be asking me if I’ve considered fucking myself,” I laugh.

“Have you always been a brat, or is this a new version of you?” he asks.

“I think always,” I say. “No. I haven’t. I had Liam before… And I never really thought about it before now.”

“Might be something to consider,” he says. “There are endless options out there to help you.”