Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
The grip bars around the toilet, in the shower. The sign about hand washing.
But there were also the luxury elements. Like the fact that the shower was a walk-in stall with white and gray marble walls and a black floor. And the fact that the little travel-sized soaps and shampoos were salon and boutique brands.
“Great,” I grumbled, looking at my face in the mirror.
It could have been worse, for sure, but there was a bruise on my forehead, and another couple on my chin and jaw.
The butterfly sutures were a little caked in blood, but at least that wound looked pretty superficial. The scar wouldn’t be too bad.
The bruises around my throat, though, those were rough. Thick purple and blue bands from side to side. If you looked closely enough, you could see small spots where his fingers hadn’t pressed in, little strips of skin-colored flesh peeking through all the darker shades.
Reaching back, I carefully worked the ties of my gown loose, pulling it off as much as I could with the stupid IV still in, checking out the damage to my core.
Again, it could have been worse.
I’d seen a lot of bruised and busted ribs in my day thanks to that family of mine, and mine was definitely on the milder side.
With that, I put my gown back on, but only managed to get one of the ties done.
It didn’t matter. I would be in the bed. No one was seeing anything.
I took a few moments to get myself together, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair, doing a little whore’s bath with some of the fancy soap and the washcloth that was softer than the scratchy ones I had at home.
Then I made my way back out into the room, finding not only my breakfast rolled in on a tray next to my bed, but Violet standing over it, picking off a sausage.
“Hey,” I grumbled, my stomach twisting hard at its emptiness as the scent of eggs, sausage, and French toast wafted over to me.
“What?” Vi asked, rolling her eyes at me. “The sausage will hurt going down with your throat anyway,” she told me.
“Stealing food from a hospital patient is a new low, even for you,” I told her as I moved forward. “A called you?”
“He did,” she said, nodding. “Which makes me wonder why you didn’t call me.”
“Unconsciousness, mostly,” I told her as I walked up to the end of the bed. “And I didn’t want the family knowing.”
“Come on, it’s me, Hope,” she said, looking a little sad. “If you didn’t want them to know, you know I wouldn’t tell them. How many times have I asked you not to worry my parents about me getting knocked around on the job?”
That was fair.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I’m only staying here because of a particularly thorough doctor.”
“I think you’re staying here because of a particularly overprotective drug dealer with a sexy voice and a dog obsession,” she countered.
That may have been a part of it.
But I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.
“Can you tie me?” I asked, turning my back to her. “I wanted to see my ribs, but it hurt too much to try to hold my arms back there long enough to try to tie them again.
“How hard did you knock your head?” Vi asked as she made short work of my ties.
“Why?” I asked, turning to face her.
“Because you could have just lifted the gown, babe,” she said, giving me raised brows.
“Oh,” I said, my own brows pinching.
Really? How bad was my concussion that I hadn’t thought of that?
“Don’t stress about it. I once knew someone with a concussion that made them lose their train of thought in the middle of saying something. Brains are weird. You should feed yours, though. Food always helps.”
If Vi had a motto, that would be it.
Food always helps.
“Did you leave me anything?” I asked as I got myself back into the bed.
“So,” she said after putting the tray in front of me, and watching me start to pick at it. “You okay?” she asked.
“Concussion. Mild. Bruised ribs. Mild too. My spleen is probably okay, they’re just being extra careful about it. And, God, I must be more hydrated than I’ve ever been in my life, because I think I’ve had several of these,” I said, pointing to my banana bag.
“The throat looks rough.”
“It is,” I agreed, wincing as the very soft scrambled eggs felt like swallowing shards of glass.
“Try to choke down all the eggs at least,” she said. “You need it. But they sent some tea with honey for the sting too. And the guy who brought the food said there were ice pops in the freezer.”
I nodded at that, trying to focus on my aching stomach and not my throat as I kept shoveling food in.