Chapitre 8: Chapter 8

Noah stood by the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. He’d placed a clean pair of jogging pants and an oversized T-shirt next to the sink, and the towel was folded and in easy reach on the closed toilet seat. Without a word, he helped me take off the sweatshirt. He ran his fingers lightly over the mottled red-purple bruising all down my right side. The featherlight touch made me shiver, and then groan with pain. He made a sympathetic sound.

“Those are going to make awesome colors as they heal.” He was trying for funny, and maybe he would have made it if my brain wasn’t foggy from the drugs and his touch. My lack of response didn’t seem to faze him, and he moved around me to carefully pull down my sweats just enough to peel the bandage off my hip. He left the pants askew, tossed the bandage in the basket, and then looked me straight in the eye. “Need any other help?”