Page 22 of Wrecked
I take a sip of my own drink before placing it next to hers on the counter. “Let me see what I've got in the bathroom.”
She follows me the short steps across my apartment and then stands in the doorway as I rummage through my bathroom drawers. Once I find what I'm looking for, I turn toward her.
“Will this do?”
She eyes the items in my hand. “Yeah. I can work with that.”
I push the toilet lid down and take a seat so I'm low enough for her to do her thing. I felt like I needed to sit down anyway, with a slight wave of dizziness hitting me. Jasmine washes her hands, then moves to stand between my legs and starts slowly unwrapping the dressing. Her vanilla scent drifts into my nose again, and I take deep greedy breaths of it.
I can't help but watch her as she works on my head. There's something about the sweet, genuineness of her face that I find mesmerizing. Her gentle touch is soothing. After being completely wrong about my assumptions and spending more time with her, I can see there's nothing hidden there. There's no devious intent or manipulation like I've come to expect from the other girls at the races.
“Why do you always do that?” she asks, cutting through the silence and my reverie.
“Do what?”
“Stare at me with a frown on your face.”
“Didn't realize,” I say, relaxing my brows and shifting my leg.
“You did it right before your outburst at the hospital as well.”
“Outburst?”
She smirks. “Verbal attack.”
I snicker. “Are you going to keep reminding me of that?”
“Maybe,” she replies, her grin widening. Then, dropping the used bandage in the trash, she adds, “It's looking good. You can actually shower normally and get it wet. Just make sure to pat it dry and then maybe air it out for about ten minutes before putting on a clean bandage.”
“Got it.”
She starts gently wrapping it with the new bandage, and I sit here, for some reason feeling like a little kid being tended to. I must admit, I don't hate it, and I'm not sure if that's fucked up or not. But I guess deep down, I crave that type of thing; having someone give a damn about me. When my parents stopped giving me the time of day, my mom specifically, it left a hole inside me, an emptiness, a need that was never filled but only ever covered up.
“When are the stitches supposed to come out?” I ask after a minute.
Jasmine's silent sigh tickles my cheek. “That's something that the doctor would have told you if you'd have stayed in the hospital. Make an appointment with your doctor in about ten days' time, I'd say.”
“And if I don't have a doctor?”
She pauses and pulls back, staring down at me, thinking and chewing on the corner of her lip. “I'll come and do it then. And I'll give you my number so you can let me know how you're doing throughout the week. Whether you're alive, you know, that sort of thing.” She smiles as she returns her focus to my head. “Oh, and try to see a physical therapist if you can.”
I wasn't expecting her to offer to take care of my stitches. But I find that I'm happy that I now have an excuse to see her again, even if it's just to get my stitches out. I may not deserve to have a woman like her, but it doesn't mean I can't be around her, does it?
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I appreciate that.”
“No problem. So have you called whoever you need to to let them know that you'll be off for at least the next week?”
Instead of telling her that I have no one to call, I simply state, “It's not an issue.” Curious eyes trail over my face but doesn't say anything more on the matter.
After finishing up, we make our way out into the living room, and while she collects her things and puts her sneakers on, I grab my phone for her to type her number into. Her smaller fingers brush over mine as she takes it, enters her digits, and then passes it back. When I look down at what name she put, one side of my mouth quirks into a smile.
“At least I was right about one thing.”
She tilts her head with a curious frown. “What's that?”
“Your friends call you Jaz.”
“Oh, actually, they don't.” She gives me a toothy grin and then opens the door, turning to me once more before stepping through it. “Alright, have a good day, Campbell.”
