Page 55 of Worshiping Faith

He’s afraid.

And I don’t blame him.

I work faster now, not wanting to give him too much time to think, about what I’m doing or what’s coming next.

The debridement is slow, meticulous. It has to be. If I rush, I’ll make things worse.

So I lean in close, fingers steady as I gently pull at the edges of the wound, exposing the deeper layers of raw, angry tissue.The infection is trying to take hold, darkening the skin around the bite. I scrub carefully, wiping away dirt, blood, anything that doesn’t belong.

His breath hitches. Sharp. Sudden.

I freeze.

My heart stutters, waiting for the backlash, for him to shove me away, to lash out, to remind me exactly what kind of men this island holds.

But he doesn’t.

He just lies there, shaking with the effort of keeping still.

I catch his eyes again. There’s something there, something buried beneath the exhaustion and the drugs. A flicker of something almost human.

I let myself believe, just for a second, that he’s not completely lost.

“I’m almost done,” I murmur, brushing the back of my hand across my forehead. A smear of his blood lingers on my skin. I don’t wipe it away. “Just a little longer, okay?”

His lips part, but no words come out.

He doesn’t trust me. I know that.

Hell, I don’t think he trusts anyone, not anymore. Maybe not ever.

But he doesn’t have to say it. I can feel it, thick in the silence between us.

I work carefully, my touch lighter now as I finish. When the wound is finally clean, I sit back on my heels, exhaling.

It’s not pretty.

The redness creeps outward like a slow burn, infection setting in. I need to get ahead of it.

I reach for the antibiotics, glancing at Jinx’s face. “You’re going to be okay,” I say softly.

A lie? Maybe.

He doesn’t answer, but I don’t expect him to. His silence is enough.

I press a pill into his palm.

His fingers brush mine, just barely, just shy of contact. Tentative.

Like he’s afraid to touch me. Like he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be touched without pain.

It twists something in my chest. I hate that he’s this broken.

I turn away, grabbing the cuffs off the cot. There’s no way they’re going back on him. Not after this.

Jinx watches me, but still says nothing.

I step back, easing the cell door shut.