She ignores her half done ribs and shoots up. “Get the fuck outta here, Bishop! Double standards? I was nearly raped last night because I wore a short dress. I was called a brainlesscuntin court last week, because I’m a woman, and my boss is a woman. You’ve mentioned the color of my hair more than once, and I only met you yesterday! Don’t ever talk to me about double standards.” Lying down again, she shoots a finger in my direction. “Keep sewing. I have places to be, and I’m scared the numb’s gonna wear off in a sec.” She pins me with a glare one last time, as though she forgot she already did it once. “Next time someone calls you a vulgar C word, discusses your hair color, or tries to fuck you against your wishes, then we can talk about double standards. Hell, once they close that gender pay gap, we can discuss it. My boss is a rich ass woman, so my pay is higher than the norm, but just about everyone else I know in the same field can’t afford slut shoes… Why? Because she works for aman.Take yourmen have it so hardbullshit, shove it up your ass, and sew your butthole closed. You can borrow my needle, I don’t mind.”
Well, alright.
Appropriatelytold-off, I bite my lip and go to work tying off the last stitch.
She’s weak.
She’s badass.
She’s injured.
She’s a fuckin’ warrior.
Taking out a large bandage, I lean close and study my work. It’ll heal, but it’ll scar like a bitch. I said I’d do it up right, and I did. She won’t die – I hope. But I never said I could make it scar-free.
Every day for the rest of her life, she’ll look at her ribs as she dresses for her days as a badass lawyer locking up assholes like me, she’ll run her hand over the bumpy skin, she’ll bite her lip and remember that time the thug brought her back to his shitty apartment.
She’ll remember me.
When she wakes next to her rich lawyer husband who probably pays his female assistant seventeen-percent less than he’d pay a man, she’ll run a hand over her ribs.
And she’ll think of me.
Peeling the plastic backing off the bandage, I lay it out over her stitches and hide my mark. Hopefully tomorrow, she’ll be smart enough to take it off and look. Make sure it’s healing. Make sure there’s no infection.
“Alright.” I peel my gloves away and toss them into the little green tray. I look up and study the blonde hair covering her face. “All done. You need to make sure it stays clean. Dry. Go to the hospital if you start to feel hot. I don’t care if your brother will get mad; he’ll getmoremad if you die…” I frown at her non-response. “Jess?” I move closer to her head. “Jess?” Brushing her silky hair aside, I study her pale cheeks and puckered lips.
I tuck locks behind a sneaky glittering piercing at the top of her ear and sigh. “You fell asleep. I was sticking you with a needle, you were telling me off, then you fall asleep.”
I glance around my tiny apartment and consider my life. I already kidnapped her. I sewed her up, and though she gave me permission, the chief and her smart rich boss might argue she wasn’t of sound mind when she gave that permission.
I can’t take her home and knock on the door. I can’t hand an unconscious girl over and I can’t leave her on the stoop. It’s too fucking cold to sleep outside.
Basically, as I study the beautiful, half naked woman curled up on my bed, I realize I’m fucked.