Page 29 of Bound

“It's just me, you're alright.” The woman's smile soothed my nerves, relaxing my muscles. “I didn't mean to frighten you, I just want to clean your head and put a new bandage on.”

Nodding, I ran my hands up and down my thighs. “I'm sorry, it was a long, strange night. I don't really feel like myself, I'm not usually this jumpy.”

Pulling the chair out from the desk under the window, she placed the seat next to the bed and sat down. Flapping her fingers, she waved me closer.

“It's fine, really.” Slowly she reached for my face, her eyes tender as tiny wrinkles breached the corners. “May I?” Shaking my head yes, I leaned forward into her palms. “Good, let's see just how bad this gash is. I'm going to peel these off, it might sting a little, but I'll be as gentle as I can.”

“Alright.” Watching her, her eyes steadied on the wound on my head, fingers tugging and tearing at the firmly glued strips. “Can I ask you something?” Glancing between her face and my hands, I waited for her to answer.

“Sure, ask away.” Grunting slightly, she grinned as she freed the small bandage. “One down, three to go.”

Fiddling with my fingers in my lap, my eyes drifted between the woman and the bed. “Who are you?”

Giggling, she sat back, letting her hands fall loosely against her thighs. “My name's Josephine, but you can call me Jo.” Grabbing the end of another strip, she repeated the process to remove it.

“Jo, where am I?”

“You're in my home, Sweetheart, safe and sound.” My head joggled on my shoulders as the bandage took a small piece of skin with it and I gasped from the sting. “Sorry, I'm trying not to hurt you. You're doing great.”

“So this is your house?”

“Mm hm, that's right.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, my voice was low as I asked, “But, who are you exactly and why am I here?”

It was a question that soured the air around me, hanging there like a baited hook. I wanted to know, I had to know what the hell was going on.

Pursing her lips, she tore the last strip off, her eyes never leaving mine. “I know you have questions, but I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm the one who should be giving you answers. I don't even know if I'd be able to answer any of them at all. Porter should be getting up soon, I think it's best if you ask him.”

Frowning, I nodded in agreement. I couldn't blame this woman for not wanting to get involved. I didn't know her, and she didn't know me. The curiosity was there though, wondering if she had any clue about last night, and how I landed here like this.

Who is she to him?

Maybe she was afraid of him too, maybe she wasn't here by choice but had been forced like I was. Parting my lips, I was about to ask her, until I noticed the similarities between them.

Her chin reminded me of Porter's, the almond shape of her eyes and long boxy nose—identical. Even the way she talked had flares of his tone.

They're related, they have to be family.

The thought made me nauseous, forcing me to question just how kind this woman really was. Was she sweet like she was portraying? Or was this all an act?

“You alright?” she asked, squinting her eyes at me down the bridge of her nose. “You're turning ghost white all of a sudden. Do you feel dizzy?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I smiled warily. “I'm fine, just exhausted.” My stomach swarmed with a million locusts as I got lost in my head, wondering if I should trust her gracious nature at all. “Are you a doctor?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.

I had to stop thinking about it. There was no way I could handle the idea that she could be a coldblooded killer too. Even if they were family, that didn't mean she followed the same path as Porter.

“Iwasa nurse, but not anymore.” Her face went distant as past memories flooded her mind. “That's a story for another day.” Smiling, she wiped the wound with a cloth, then pushed away to look at me.

“How's it look?” I asked.

“You're going to need a few stitches, there's no doubt about that.” Twisting, she pulled a small bag onto her lap, and fumbled around inside. “Have you ever had stitches before?”

“Once, when I was eleven.” Bending my arm, I pointed at the scar on my forearm. “Got sliced sledding, it was awful.”

“Then you remember it stings like a bitch when they numbed it?”

“Yeah, it wasn't fun.”

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