Page 39 of Dust to Dust

I snorted. “You got squeamish at me just saying the word bullet.”

“I can handle it.” At my continued disbelief, she countered, “I’m a scientist, remember? I’m used to handling all kinds of gross things.”

When I opened my mouth to tell her okay, I quickly shut it. If she was to help me, she’d have to see me without my shirt.

Without my shirt, she’d see the rest of my scars.

I couldn’t let that happen. It was one thing to see them on my face and neck, it was another to see them down my side. Regardless of her initial interest in them, I couldn’t bear to see revulsion reflected in her eyes.

I’d rather take another fucking bullet.

“It’s okay. I can do it myself.”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Quit being so stubborn and let me do it.”

When she took a step towards me, I stepped back. Throwing up my hands, I snapped, “What is it with you? I said I don't need your fucking help.”

Isla’s blonde brows furrowed. “I’m sorry.” After gnawing on her lip, she said, “I’ll just go.”

As she started for the door, I grabbed her arm. “Don’t go.”

“But you–”

“I was being an asshole.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn't have pressured you.”

“Stop arguing and start helping me.”

With a huff, she replied, “Fine.”

As Isla followed me into the bathroom, I inwardly groaned at the bright lights that were about to highlight my scars. I would’ve given anything to turn them off. To save more than her from having to see them.

With a grimace, I eased the shirt off my shoulders and down my arms. At Isla’s gasp, I froze. When I dared to look at her, she wasn’t staring at my scars. Instead, her gaze was on my still gaping wound. “T-That looks h-horrible.”

I quirked my brows at her. “What happened to being a scientist?”

Crimson dotted her cheeks. “It’s a lot different seeing things in the lab.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to help me clean my wound?”

“Maybe if you can distract me.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one doing that to me?” I countered.

Her shaky hand reached for the gauze and alcohol that I had put out on the counter. “Yes. But in this case, I’m going to be selfish.”

My chuckle was short-lived when she gently swiped the gauze across the wound. I sucked in a harsh breath. With gritted teeth, I said, “The first time I saw you I thought you could be the Irish goddess and faerie queen, Cliodna.”

“Why?”

“Because in our folklore, she was considered to be the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Isla’s hand froze. She jerked her focus from my wound to my eyes. “You think I’m beautiful?” she questioned softly.

I shook my head. “No. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Thank you, but I think you’re exaggerating.”

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