Page 94 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

I raised my brows at him and he shrugged. “I know a life-threatening wound when I see one.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I spentthree days drifting in and out of sleep in Cordelia’s bed. She woke up thrashing and screaming every night, and I knew it was my fault that she was on edge, but between the painkillers and the exhaustion, I wasn’t lucid enough to do anything about it. I could only pull her tight against me, keeping her warm and safe until morning light broke.

When my skull no longer felt too small for all the swelling on my face, I finally ventured out of the bedroom. I only left the comfort of Cordelia’s scent to follow her melodic voice down to her office.

“I’m sorry for missing that, but you wanted me to get my face out there. It’s out there. I thought you’d be happy.” That melodic voice currently didn't sound very happy. Cordelia didn’t even lift her eyes from the screen when I leaned in her doorway. Her hairwas up in a braided bun, her bangs held back by a pair of pink headphones.

“Showing up to her boyfriend’s matches worked for Taylor Swift and that football guy,” she argued and threw her hands up.

This phone call was about me. Or at least about Cordelia showing up for me. She was getting shit for coming to see me? I pushed myself off the doorframe. Not that I could punch whoever was on the other end of that call through the screen - but I could get their name and location.

“No, I don’t want to be- Amani, I was never going to be some political beacon of hope.” Cordelia’s attention flickered, and she straightened as her eyes caught mine over the edge of her screen. “I gotta go.” One mouse click and she pulled her headphones down. “Hi. You’re up.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, ready to dig through her files for Amani’s address. Work was work. I would never fuck with Cordelia’s foundation. But I wouldn’t let some gray-haired chick in California make Cordelia feel bad about this relationship.

“Nothing.” She swung herself out of her chair and walked around her desk, stopping me before I could come dangerously close to Amani’s information. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” She smoothed careful fingertips over my temple, examining my busted face.

“Shitty liar,” I said because the shadows under her eyes were as dark as my bruises.

She scrunched up her nose at me before snaking her arms around my middle and dropping her forehead against my chest. “Fine. Let me rephrase that. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’re the one who said we work as a team,” I told her, “so what’s wrong?”

“I missed some meetings this week because my mind was in a million places.”

“Because of me,” I assumed.

She nodded. “And Amani is worried about our branding. Because the video campaign is very soft and heartfelt, and I opened up about my agoraphobia and not really leaving my house in years. Except now there’s the pictures from the fight. I didn’t just leave my house, it’s also quite obvious that-” She groaned in frustration and pressed her face deeper into my chest.

“What?”

“I walk in with my hair in beach waves. I walk out with a wet bun.” She leaned back, finding my eyes before explaining further. “They’re basically slut-shaming me. I personally don’t care, to be honest, because people are just super weird about sex. But I don’t understand why it reflects badly on me that I took a shower with my boyfriend after he won aprofessionalfight. But Amani says it will have a negative effect on the foundation and diminish the very serious work we do for women who need to get away from theirdomesticallyviolent partners. Like, that violence exists in two completely different contexts. So what if you punch a guy in the octagon and then I sleep with you?” She groaned. “At least we don’t have to go to that open door event, because our attendance would be too distracting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just want to help. What does it even matter who I sleep with?” She ran her hands through her hair, a red flush spreading up her neck. “Not that I even slept with you. We had fun but we didn’t have sex. I’d be less annoyed if I had actually earned the negative consequences through my actions. I’m just getting consequences based on presumptions. Do people really always just bang one out? No nuance? Nothing between kissing and jumping each other’s bones? It’s stupid. It’s just- anyway- food- you haven’t eaten in two days.” She tried to push past me, angled for the kitchen.

“Hold on, come here.” I sighed and cradled her face in my hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Maybe she really believed that, but she was fighting my battle for me, and it was turning her life upside-down. She could be so much more than tabloid fodder. “What did you mean, you were never going to be a political beacon of hope?”

“She thinks I could have a political career if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to?”

“No. What’s the point? Human trafficking is illegal. Kidnapping is illegal. Domestic abuse is illegal. These women suffer anyway.” Cordelia shook her head. “I’ll stick with direct action, and I think I can do more than what I’m already doing. You actually inspired me.”

“I did?”

“The Theresa Montgomery foundation has been focused on helping women, right? There’s many men who go through the same things. That trauma alters your brain chemistry. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve had one traumatic event or went through years of abuse.” She ran her hands over my chest and traced the inked lines on my neck. “The support needs most men experience are systemically different, so it won’t be easily integrated into the foundation, but it would be a new branch.”

“I love you.” The words slipped from my mouth lighter than air. Loving Cordelia was easier than breathing.

“Good,” she laughed, some of the tension easing from her brows, “or our wedding would have been very awkward.”

---