Page 99 of A Violet Obsession

I lift it out of spite, and regret it instantly.

Her mouth tightens. “Sit down.”

“No.”

She crosses the room, grabs the small, white box from the desk, and opens it. “Sit down,” she says again.

There’s a tremor beneath the firmness, and that’s what makes me obey.

I sit on the edge of the bed closest to the door. She kneels in front of me, sorting wipes, gauze, and Steri-Strips. Her hands are gentle as she uses the first wipe to clean a cut along my ribs. My abdomen clenches.

Her eyes flick up.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask.”

That almost pulls a smile out of me. Almost.

She cleans each wound one by one. I remain rigid through all of it. The pain is simple. Not so much the press of her fingers against my side. Her breath when she leans close. The way she braces a hand on my abdomen to reach the cut on my face.

I focus on the wall over her shoulder. Not the curve of her neck. Not the damp strands of hair clinging to her cheek. Not the way she bites the inside of her lip when she concentrates.

She dabs antiseptic on a deeper cut, and I inhale sharply.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s fine.”

She works slower after that

When she shifts to reach a bruise along my side, her knee presses against my foot. I look down before I can stop myself.

Her lashes are wet.

Something pulls tight in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and I’m not sure I’ve heard her right.

“This isn’t your fault.”

Her tongue peeks out from the corner of her mouth, but she doesn’t answer. She turns her face away, but I catch the quiet sniffle—the sound of someone trying not to cry.

No.

I can take a beating. I’ve taken plenty. But listening to Lily cry because she thinks what’s happened is her fault… I can’t do that.

I stand too fast, and she rocks back on her heels. “That’s enough.”

“I wasn’t finished.” Hurt flickers across her expression before she hides it.

“You are now.”

I grab the clothes Nora left and pull them on with more force than necessary—loose brown pants, a cream shirt that is tight across the shoulders and smells like cedar.

No belt. No laces. Nothing useful.

The food comes by way of a girl in beige linen who barely looks at us, sets the tray on the dresser, and leaves.