Page 85 of Peak Cruelty

“You got enemies, yes?”

I don’t answer.

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach anything above her mouth.“That’s what I thought.”

She dabs at the corner of my lip.The cloth comes away red.She nods like it’s a good thing.Just dunks it back into the bowl.

“How long?”I ask.

“Since I found you?Thirty hours or so.You were out cold, shallow breathing.Rental manager said to call the cops.I clean the place between bookings.”

“Why didn’t you.”

“I’ve been asking myself that ever since.”

That lands like a warning.But I’m too tired to care.

“You patched me up?”

“Some.”She shrugs.“What I could.Ice.Ribs.Superglue for your forehead.Might’ve broken a rib.Or three.”

“You could’ve left me there.”

“I could’ve,” she says.“But I didn’t.”

I shift.The pain radiates out in waves.“Why not?”

She wrings out the rag, looks at it as though she’s debating whether it’s worth washing again.Then she stands.

“I know what it’s like to get kicked in the teeth.People stepped in to help,” she says.“Sometimes life gives you the chance to return the favor.And besides, I’m a sucker for a lost cause.”

She leaves the bowl and walks into the small kitchen.

I try to sit up again.This time I make it halfway.Everything screams.The door looks miles away.I consider crawling.

There’s a mirror across from it—thin, mounted crookedly above a fake fireplace.I catch sight of myself on the third push forward.

Swollen jaw.One eye purpled shut.Bandages around my ribs.My face looks caved in.But I’m not dead, so there’s that.

I collapse on the couch.Exhale.

The woman comes back in with a mug.Sets it on the coffee table in front of me.

“Tea,” she says.“Don’t ask what kind.It’s hot and legal.”

I nod.Take it.My hands shake.

“You live here?”I ask.

“No.I live in the house up front.”

She sits across from me.Doesn’t speak.Doesn’t offer more.Just studies me like she’s wondering whether I’m salvageable or not.

“You were alone,” she says.“But it didn’t feel like you started that way.”

I say nothing.

“You want to talk about it?”

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