My blinks grow longer, the medicine kicking in faster than I would’ve expected, and she never pulls her eyes from me. She also doesn’t open her mouth to speak, so I don’t break the silence either.
I didn’t give her my eyes often when she was in the office back in El Salvador. Letting her truly see me was dangerous, and I knew how hard it would be to hide the fact that I was desperate to get her to trust me. I wanted the warmth of her body against mine then as much as I want it now. I just feel in my soul that the touch of her skin would be more healing and offering more comfort than the pills I just took.
But I can’t ask those things of her.
She’d probably walk out of here and disappear if I mention how I wanted the tickle of her hair on my skin or the warmth of her breath on my chest. God, her fingers wrapped around mine would be absolute bliss.
I groan at the prospect, my eyes closing to hold on to the image for just a second longer as my legs move slightly between the sheets.
When I open my eyes once again, her brow is creased like she’s worried about me, but that can’t be the case.
I’m a monster, and I’ll always be a monster to her. There’s no amount of explanation or apologies that will make what I did forgivable, and I’d never expect that from her. Forgiveness is asking too much.
We continue to watch each other, my eyes tearing up from holding them open so long. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. I’m not crying in front of this woman. The wetness on my face is because of the pain. It’s my body’s way of cleansing itself. Nothing more.
I close my eyes, the meds and anger at the man I’ve allowed myself to become too strong to keep them open. I can only pray that she’s still here when I open them again.
Chapter 29
Cara
I use the back of my forearm to wipe sweat from my brow, reminding myself that the heat in the room is for his benefit, not mine. If someone were giving me a bed bath, I’d appreciate not freezing while it happened.
I try to keep my focus on the task at hand, reminding myself over and over that as a nurse’s aide, I’ve done this a million times. Literally, every day at work, I give bed baths. I didn’t have a problem then and I shouldn’t have a problem now. Javier is just like every other patient, other than the fact that he’s heavily medicated and asleep. That actually works in my favor because I can do this without awkward conversation and eye contact.
But none of the old men look like Javier.
“Focus on the injuries,” I mutter as I lower his heavy arm, making sure not to bump his cast. “Modesty is key.”
I place a towel back over that arm and stare down at him. Both arms are done, and I managed to do it with only shedding a few tears. Kincaid wasn’t joking when he said Javier is covered in stitches. His arms look like he was tossed into a food blender and left to be pulverized.
“Ointment first,” I say uncovering his arm again so I can apply the salve to his injuries.
I know I’m just avoiding having to pull the sheet away from his chest. I remember what he looked like without a shirt on and was reminded when I had to roll him over to get towels under him for this bed bath. He’s got as many cuts as he does muscles, so it’s no wonder he’s in so much pain. I know they pull and hurt no matter how little he moves, and that’s why I’m trying to be as gentle as I possibly can.
Applying the ointment goes way too quickly, but I’m committed to the task of getting him clean. He either refused or wasn’t able to take a shower at the hospital, and that leaves me questioning the staff working there because he showed up still splattered with blood. I don’t want his wounds to get infected, and that’s the only reason I’m even doing this.
Tears well again when I pull the sheet down to reveal his chest. More cuts, more bruising. I trace the darkest one with the tip of one finger before I can stop myself. I sniffle, the sound making him jolt slightly, but then he settles once again. I go right back into my task, washing his chest and sides gently with soap before using clean water to rinse the soap away. After toweling the area dry, I apply the ointment and cover him back up.
Next are his legs, and the things are massive, much heavier than the arms. I clean, rinse, and dry them as best I can, applying ointment to the couple of injuries I find there. He doesn’t have many on his calves, but his thighs have stripes of stitches like his arms do.