Page 23 of Sweet Vengeance
“You’re not wrong,” Cillian tells me, staying close. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I don’t ask, pretending I have no say in the matter as he stays close to me while I slowly walk with the IV pole toward the bathroom.
“About what?”
“Me being a jerk. All of us are, really. But shit like this? What happened to you? We don’t do that.”
I stop moving, surprised he’s bringing this up. Isn’t his lifestyle supposed to be secret? I mean, it is and it isn’t. “Never? You don’t steal cars?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck no,” he says as if that’s beneath him.
“You’ve never hurt someone who’s innocent?” I ask next, then hate how I swallow down a lump in my throat. How I want him to be able to tell me no, though it would be nothing more than a lie. “See? That’s what I thought,” I answer when it’s clear he’s not going to reply. “What you do is wrong, Cillian. There’s no excuse for it. I’d like to go to the bathroom alone, please.”
He watches me, blue eyes studying, dissecting…and maybe a little sad. The sadness throws me for a moment, confuses me.
Cillian nods and steps back.
Shuffling into the bathroom takes some time, but eventually I get there, closing the door behind me and collapsing with my back against it. It takes me a moment before I can breathe, which is more uncomfortable than it should be.
Still, for a reason I can’t explain, the sadness in his ocean gaze lingers in my mind.
*
Cillian is waitingfor me where I left him when I exit the bathroom. He stays close but doesn’t touch me, like he’s trying to be there in case I need him but not overstepping the lines I drew.
“Thank you,” I mumble once I’m back in the bed, wanting him to know I understand what he did and I appreciate it. We don’t see eye to eye on…well, anything, but I need to give credit where credit is due.
“I’m missing class today.” I close my eyes, trying to ignore the pain, both mentally and physically.
“You’ll be back soon.”
A nurse comes in, this one a beautiful Black woman with twists. “How are you doing?” She smiles.
“Good,” I reply.
“What do we need to do to get him home today?” Cillian asks, surprising me.
“The doctor needs to see him. I can’t promise they’ll discharge him today.”
Each of her words twists my stomach into another knot. I open my mouth to let her know I’m not staying here another night—I can’t be in this place any longer than I have to—but Cillian speaks first. “He’s going home today. Unless it’s life or death, he needs to go home.”
I whip my head in his direction—and wish I didn’t because ithurts. Why is he advocating so hard for me to go home? Last night it was the opposite.
As if feeling my eyes shooting questions at him, Cillian glances my way and gives me a smirk. “I keep my word, Kitten.”
I really,reallywish warmth didn’t skate up my skin over that stupid nickname.
“I’ll see what I can do,” the nurse replies, but her tone says she’s not happy about it. I understand. She’s only doing her job and wants what’s best for me, but these four walls are feeling like they’re closing in on me. I hate hospitals. Even if I didn’t, the longer I’m here, the more it’ll cost, and I’m already freaking out about that.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Cillian tells her.
She finishes her morning check-in, taking my vitals and asking questions.
The hospitalist comes in right after, giving me a brief exam. Cillian asks questions, which surprises me, about what the doctor is doing and how he feels I’m doing. It’s on the tipof my tongue to tell him to stop, that it’s not his business and I don’t need anyone to speak for me, but words never leave my mouth. My behavior around him and the way I respond to him are a mystery.
“Do you live alone?” Dr. Hill asks.
“He’s staying with me,” Cillian interrupts.
“I can speak for myself.” I’m absolutely one hundred percent not staying with him, but I’m also smart enough to know that I shouldn’t say that in front of the physician. They’ll want to make sure someone is there if I need them.
