Page 24 of Sweet Vengeance
“This is what we’ll do,” Dr. Hill says. “I’d like the neurologist and pulmonologist to see you this morning. We’ll run another scan of your head and chest, and as long as those are clear, we’ll discharge you into Mr. O’Shea’s care. We need to make sure your lungs don’t fill with fluid. That’s always a worry with rib injuries.”
Worry swims in my already aching head. I don’t want to get sick. I don’t want to be hurt. I just…I wish this never happened. Not the stepping-in part—I don’t have it in me not to do that—but that those guys hadn’t tried to hurt anyone at all.
Those guys, who are like Cillian.
Cillian, who is also here, missing school to be with me.
Cillian, who slept slumped over in a chair, holding my hand.
Cillian, who does kind things too.
“That sounds good,” I tell the doctor.
Once Cillian and I are alone again, I whisper a soft “Thank you.”
“What for?” The frown curling his lips tells me it’s an honest question. Does no one ever thank him?
“For this. Being here. Sleeping here. Telling them I’m staying with you. Everything.”
“Youarestaying with me, and you’re welcome.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Try again, Kitten. Either you’re staying at the house with us, or I’ll be in that dorm room with you. I’m not leaving you alone, not only because of your health, but because I don’t know if those guys will be looking for you.”
Oh…oh. How could I have forgotten that detail? I’d like to shove it back into whatever box it was in so I can pretend it’s not true.
“I’m thirsty,” I say instead of responding.
Cillian gets up and walks over to a table behind me. There’s a pitcher and a cup on it. He pours water into the paper cup, grabs a straw, and stops beside my bed. “Here.”
I watch as he moves the drink closer, holding it for me.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
I’ve been independent all my life. While I always had my parents, and then just my dad, I’ve also always been able to fend for myself. We had so much to worry about with Mom, I didn’t want Dad to have to take care of me on top of that.
There’s no reason I can’t drink from this cup on my own. No reason I should be letting Cillian O’Shea help me, but I lean in, mouth on the straw, and take a couple of long, deep pulls. It immediately quenches my too-dry tongue, and I take more.
He’s watching me. He’s always watching me, in this way that makes no sense, but I don’t call him on it. Just drink all the water until Cillian pulls it away and asks, “Do you need more?”
“No. I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Stop saying that. It’s annoying.” He sets the cup down.
“Being nice is annoying?”
“Yes. You’ve met my friends, remember? As you pointed out earlier, asshole is our default.”
I believe I said jerk, but still. He’s not wrong, and yet he also is. The things Cillian has done for me today aren’t things a total jerk would do. All of them coming here last night for me isn’t either.
Don’t do this. Don’t excuse his bad behavior.
Getting me water doesn’t change who he is or the things he’s done.
“I’m here to take you for a chest X-ray,” a man says, startling me.
“I’ll be right here waiting for you, Kitten.” Cillian grins.
