“Considering your plumbing versus mine, I can’t believe it either.”
I wrinkled my nose as I realized what they were talking about.
Chapter Nineteen
I hissed, whimpered, cried, and begged for mercy as Sarah peeled away the denim that Mel had wrapped around my arm and unhooked the glow sticks from my wrist. I squeezed my eyes shut before I had to see the damage, but judging from Sarah’s hiss, it was bad. Things immediately got worse when she grabbed my arm above the elbow and held it under a stream of cold water.
I shrieked, yanked on my arm trying to get away from the pain. Sarah had that damned preternatural strength, though, and my arm was staying exactly where she wanted it.
“You’re going to pull your arm out of socket,” Julian said, stepping up behind me and putting a hand to my shoulder. He may as well have been a brick wall; I could barely move.
Mel had, of course, disappeared into his room the second we’d gotten back, explaining that if he didn’t brush the eyeball taste of his mouth soon, he was going to take after me and never stop vomiting.
“It’s bad, but you’re not gonna lose the arm,” Sarah said. I cracked an eye open, saw the mottled skin, bloody gashes, and clumps of dirt Sarah hadn’t yet managed to clean out and felt my knees go weak. I was bleeding again, despite the fact that my skin looked bloodless.
“Oops,” Julian said, wrapping an arm around my waist to hold me upright. I whimpered again as Sarah plucked at some dirt.
“Don’t faint,” she ordered.
For some stupid reason, my brain obeyed. I wanted to pass out, believe me, but I was hyped up on adrenaline or something, and my mind was not going to give in that easily. Unfortunately, this left me in the position of being completely aware of the pain as she worked.
After an eternity of cold agony, Sarah turned the water off, gestured toward the kitchen table. Julian nodded, dragged me over, and sat down, holding me in his lap. When I tried to lower my arm, he grabbed it, used his incredible reach to hold my wrist up in the air, keeping the arm above my head. Sarah disappeared down into the basement.
Feeling nearly sick with pain, I twisted enough that I could see Julian’s face.
“Please tell me it’s over,” I said. Julian shook his head and I felt pity roll out of him. I looked up at my arm, saw that the gashes were still dribbling blood. Sarah appeared with an armful of towels and a giant red box with a white plus sign on the front.
“I have some bad news.” Sarah said, setting her haul on the table. “You can’t go to a hospital.”
“But that’s where the drugs are,” I whimpered. Julian barked out a laugh.
“Well, we have some of those here, so I guess that's the good news,” Sarah said, her voice cheery.
I dropped my head back to Julian's shoulder as Sarah opened her kit and started fiddling with something behind the lid. I whimpered up at him, making him laugh and shift his grip so it was more comfortable for both of us.
“You remind me of Lorelai, sometimes.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Julian tipped his head, considering me. After a moment, he nodded.
“I think it will be for her. Assuming she has better taste in men.” Julian winked, and I felt a hand on my chin. I rolled my gaze over as Sarah shoved a pill the size of a cockroach to the back of my throat, dumped a glass of water in after it. I swallowed, coughed, sputtered, and felt Julian’s grip on me loosen.
“More news—which could be good or bad, depending in how you look at it—is that I have some…well.” She paused, looked to her husband behind me as if nervous about explaining. “Let’s call it medical training.”
“Okay?” I asked, feeling myself start to struggle. That didn’t sound good and my subconscious was already certain I was going to be in more pain within moments. Julian's grip tightened and I felt him lower my arm toward his wife. She laid my arm as gently as she could on the flat surface of the towels and pulled a curved needle out from the first aid kit.
“No, no, no,” I moaned. Julian sighed behind me and I felt more pity spurt out of him. He gripped my arm above my elbow and kissed the top of my head.
“It doesn't hurt as much as you'd think. ”
It didn’t take as long as I would’ve guessed and did in fact hurt less than I’d expected. Still, I was so emotionally exhausted when it was over I couldn't even think to thank Sarah for sewing me up. She seemed proud of making my arm look like Frankenstein's monster, but when she'd finished bandaging, my eyes were starting to go blurry and I couldn't really tell her emotions from the everyday feelings of breathing. In fact, breathing felt pretty cool and I spent a fair amount of time just inspecting how it felt to let air pass through my nostrils, or over my teeth and tongue.
Noticing my slack-jawed stare, Sarah laughed, shook her head.
“I wish the drugs took a little longer,” Sarah sighed.
I did my best to respond logically but it came out as, “Where are air?”
Chuckling, Julian got to his feet, bringing me up with him, and then hunched down as his wife stepped close. Sarah hooked my good arm over her shoulder, leaned in to catch the kiss Julian offered, and then led me toward my room.
“Whassa?” I demanded with all the coherency of a drunk toddler. Sarah smiled and I felt the cloud of concern within her fade toward amusement.
“Let's clean you up.”
Thanks to the drugs, showering with Sarah wasn’t even a little awkward. She stripped me (which I also found pretty fascinating to feel), shoved me into the shower, and then started dumping soap and shampoo on my skin. Any time my arm would head toward the water, she'd grab it, shove it well out of the spray. I think I started humming at some point and I might have even hit on her. My brain doesn't have all the details, but she didn't treat me like anything other than one of her children, so I couldn't have done anything too horrific.
“I feel fritty pantastic,” I announced as I dripped onto the bathroom rug.
Sarah barked out a laugh as she wrapped a towel around me and secured it in some complicated way that I simply could not figure out, no matter how hard I thought about it. She remained naked but tossed a towel over my head before we left the bathroom, leaving me effectively blind. I followed her lead, didn’t object when she sat me down on the bed and started drying my hair swiftly. After pulling the towel off my head, she wrapped it around herself, bent down to look into my eyes.
“Yeah. You’ll sleep pretty well tonight,” she told me. I felt my lips tug up in a smile but it was like they were someone else’s lips. I was wearing a mask of my own face and it was hovering above my skin, smiling when I gave it the order to do so.
I reached out to touch her face but found that the action was delayed. By the time I actually lifted my arm, Sarah had bent down to my bag to pull out my clothes. My hand touched empty air but I felt it swept out of the way as Sarah came back into view.
“Arms up,” she ordered. When I just turned to stare at my hand and wonder why I found it as completely incomprehensible as lentils, she sighed. “Okay then.” Without ceremony, she yanked my arms up, shoved the sleep shirt down over them until my head poked through the neck hole. The action made me snort and giggle. She put a hand to my back, guided me until I was lying down, and then pulled the towel away from my body, smoothing the shirt down over my torso.
“It might lack a certain amount of dignity for both of us to try to get your underwear on, but I think I can manage your pajama bottoms. What do you think?” she asked.
“You’re pretty.”
“Well, as long as you agree.”
Before long, I was bundled up under the covers, high as a kite, unbothered by the fact that I was going commando in my pink, fuzzy sleep pants. She was right, though; I slept really fucking well for awhile.
##
“How are you feeling?” I felt an arm slip across my waist as the voice crept into my ear. A hand pressed against my belly under the covers, pulled me back against a warm body. The painkiller hadn’t
quite worn off but I wasn’t so high that I didn’t recognize the feel of Mel spooning me. I grunted, wondering briefly if I’d been transported back in time. Did I have to deal with that fucking spider all over again?
“Are you awake?” Mel asked. I groaned, shifting my arm. Pain shot through it, making me seize up, yelp, and adjust back into a position that wasn’t agonizing.
“Goddammit,” I grumbled. Mel pulled away and I cracked open one eye, looking at him in the light of the open curtains. He looked worried.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, suddenly realizing it was not two nights ago; I hadn’t been in such pain then.
“I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“And you needed to manhandle me for that?”
“No, that I did for your benefit.”
“Uh huh, real beneficial. Fuck, I can’t believe how much this hurts. Even with the painkiller. I can’t believe you did this to me. Keep your mouth away from me.”
“That’s not what you said yesterday,” Mel said with a wink. There was tension along his forehead, though; his joke was forced.
“Well, I should have,” I snapped, rolling onto my back. Sensing my ire was ebbing, Mel settled in again, propping his head up on his elbow. “Why aren’t you all torn up?” I demanded, cradling my arm against me. Mel shrugged.
“I’m tough.”
“You don’t even have a scratch,” I growled, grabbing his arm with my free hand and holding it close to my face. He let me inspect his skin in the dim moonlight, run my fingers along his wrist. After a few seconds, he spoke quietly.
“Ah, I’m not tough everywhere.”
“You’re a weakling in Denmark?” I asked, turning to look at him. I let him take his arm back, but he just draped it across my hips.
“Remember the fight over Norma’s death?”
“Very well.” I grinned toothily. “Prior to seeing pictures of you as a teenager, that was my favorite Mel-related memory.”
He sighed, put upon by my constant teasing.
“There’s a reason your boyfriend jammed me where he did with the needle. My, ah.” He paused, his gaze rolling to the ceiling, as if it was too embarrassing to face me while he explained. “My penis and—um, they’re—it isn’t—Well.”
“Spit it out,” I demanded, ignoring the opportunity for innuendo.
“It’s not as thick-skinned as the rest of me.”
“So if I call it ugly, it’ll run into its room and listen to emo rock?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at. My penis has an embarrassing taste in music.”
“I always suspected that about your penis,” I mused. Mel scoffed and I felt his hand move slightly further across my belly, his fingers curling over my hip. I frowned over at him, suspicious of his actions. We watched each other in the dark for a few moments, before I let out a sigh of disbelief.
“I’m not having sex with you,” I said.
“How do you know my penis isn’t exactly what you need to get better?”
“Because I’m not an idiot.” Mel’s silence said he didn’t believe that one bit and I lifted my good arm, smacking him in the shoulder. He laughed.
“It’s pretty terrible of you to assume I came in here just to have sex with you.”
“Didn’t you?”
Mel was quiet, holding out for awhile, making me guess at what he was going to say. Finally, he spoke. “Okay fine, but can you blame me?”
“Yes!”
“I just mean,” he said through another laugh. “That it’s been awhile for me, and here you are, willing—”
“Except, I’m not willing.”
“Well then, here you are, cute and—”
“And the only woman in the house who wouldn’t beat the living hell out of you for trying?”
“I wasn’t going to bring that up, but yes.”
“You are such an asshole,” I accused, shifting to roll back onto my side, hoping he would understand that I was just teasing. He stayed where he was, still warm against my back. It wasn’t so bad having company.
“I really was just worried about you,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I said. “I was just messing with you; it’s habit to think you’re an asshole and pick a fight with you.”
“You need new habits.”
“Eh,” I mumbled noncommittally.
“I wouldn’t actually have sex with Sarah, either,” he murmured after a bit.
“Because Julian will kill you?”
“No!” he protested, sounding legitimately insulted. “Because she’s not just my brother’s wife, she’s my sister, now. She’s family.”
“That’s surprisingly sweet of you.”
“Well, it’s true. You, on the other hand—”
“Are badly injured,” I interrupted. “Because of you. You didn’t get to see what a mess you made of my arm, but I did. I don’t want your mouth anywhere on me ever again.”
“I really am sorry about that.”
I let his apology hang for a second, before replying.
“I know.” We were quiet a little while longer and, as I felt myself start to drift off, I sighed, mumbled into the pillow. “You can stay, but no funny business.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and I felt the bed shift. Curious, I rolled over just enough to see him. He’d adjusted to lie on his back, tucking one hand behind his head. I watched him for a second, noted that he’d grown his eyelashes out again, that his hair looked soft and shiny in the moonlight. I noticed the necklace resting against his bare chest, and thought about how, once he took that off, we’d probably be back to sniping at each other at every opportunity. I wasn’t sure I could resist, considering how painful it was to be around him without magic involved. That would be a problem for Seattle-Gwen, though. Right now I was fake-married Gwen. Harstine Island Gwen. Sleepy and in pain as hell Gwen.
I rolled back over, fell asleep almost immediately.
Chapter Twenty
When I woke I wasn’t alone, despite the fact that Mel had gone. Four puppies and two kids in purple sleep shirts were spread around the bed with me; two of the puppies were twitching and Walter was snoring quietly. I fought the urge to grab and hug each and every one of them, my insides feeling gooey at the sight of them.
My bladder, however, reminded me that being pinned to the bed by six five-year-olds was seriously going to hamper my ability to pee.
Using my good arm and some slow tugging and shifting that made me feel like a bed ninja, I managed to slide myself out from under the covers, get to my feet, and walk across my pillows, dropping as silently to the ground as I could. I ran for the bathroom, prayed the puppies wouldn’t wake up and rush away by the time I got done.
I looked myself over in the mirror, winced at the bruises Mel had managed to leave along my body. I had welts on my chest and shoulder where he had slammed into me as a wolf and my lower back had scrapes running along my spine. I sighed, vowed to make him double my cupcake payment and slipped back into my room. The pups hadn’t stirred even a bit and I crept backward toward the door watching them snooze.
I found Julian and Sarah standing in the kitchen, him leaning over her shoulder as she grinned and worked on something I couldn’t see past the bar. The closer I got, though, the more I realized how incredible it smelled.
As I lifted myself onto the chair, resting my arm as gingerly as I could on the counter, Sarah smiled.
“You’re up!”
“The kids are all in there.”
Julian opened his mouth to speak, but only grunted in pain as Sarah jabbed her elbow hard against his gut. As rubbed his belly, Sarah slid a massive cupcake across the bar, smiled at me.
It had pink and purple frosting piped out to resemble a swollen, massive flower. I almost cried with joy, lifted it and curled my tongue against the sugar. After I’d licked the frosting off, Sarah reached forward, snatched it away.
“Hey!” I snapped.
“The kids found Mel in there early this morning, probably after being awakened last night by all your screaming and wailing,” she explained with a teasing wink. Before I could pout, she pulled a giant pastry bag out of a bowl next to her, piped on another giant flower, all pink this time.
“Bless you,” I said, as she handed back the cupcake. “Where is Mel, anyway?”
I mashed as much of the sugar into my mouth as I could manage. Julian watched me as most people do when they encounter my sugar addiction: with a mix of disgust and fascination.
“He left around two hours ago to deal with the center. He said to bring you out there, if you’re up for it.”
“What time is it?” I asked around the cupcake.
“It’s only seven. I had planned to have all your cupcakes done by the time you woke, but you’re up early.”
“Other than Mel waking me up for sex, I slept like a rock.”
“He did what?” Julian asked.
“I mean, he didn’t really.”
“Sure,” he teased. I pointed at him with chocolate-covered fingers.
“Don’t you start. I’ve seen what your wife can do and I’m betting I could get her to beat you up if I asked nice enough.”
“It’s true. She could,” Sarah admitted. Julian chuckled, nodded.
“Yeah, all right. How’s the arm?” Julian asked. Sarah licked some frosting off her finger and set down her piping tube.
“I should check it, actually,” she said, going to wash her hands. I felt myself tense at the prospect, but realized it was probably a good idea. When she came around to my side and took my wrist, I glanced between her and her husband.
“It’s a good thing this doesn’t turn me into one of you. I’d be the worst wolf.”
“You think?” Sarah asked as she unwrapped my arm.
“That whole hair thing looks complicated. I’d be like one of the kids, growing Mohawks everywhere but my head.”
“When Mel was little, he always had furry hands.”
“Oh my god,” I said, jerking around to face Julian. Sarah squeezed my wrist before I could accidentally yank my arm out of her grip. “Please tell me you have pictures—video—elaborate, painted art depicting tiny Mel with furry palms. I will mount these above my fireplace—I will install a fireplace, just to mount these pictures there. Then I will invite him over for dinner every night, just so that I can point and laugh.”
Cold Feet (Empathy in the PPNW Book 3) Page 23
