Page 30 of Malicious Marriage
“Maybe.” Clover chuckles, but it lacks her usual musical notes. “Can’t fix my terrible balance, though, can it?”
“No, it can’t.” I locate the cooling balm near the top and some anti-inflammatory oil buried at the bottom. “But it can stop a worse injury if you do fall again. Not that this is anything to ignore.”
Gently, I touch her arm and slide the flowing material of her sleeve out of the way, revealing dark bruising around the back of her upper arm and a few smaller bruises near the side. If I went off my own analysis, I’d say someone grabbed her far too roughly and left such a terrible mark.
“It’s really nothing,” Clover repeats. “It doesn’t even hurt—” A soft hiss of pain escapes following her sharp inhale when I slide my thumb lightly over the dark, bruised flesh.
“You don’t need to pretend with me.” Without thinking, I quickly roll up my sleeves to reduce my restriction and uncap the tube of oil. “I’m not going to judge you or your tolerance of pain, no matter howminoryou think this is.”
For better access to her arm, I move much closer to Clover and stand between her parted knees so I hold her shoulder with one hand and gently smooth the oil over the bruise with the other.
“Ow,” Clover whispers. “What is that? It… is it supposed to sting?”
“For all the times you’ve fallen, you’ve never used this oil?” Our eyes meet and I already know the answer since I had to break the seal on the tube.
Clover shakes her head.
“Anti-inflammatory oil is good for all sorts of injuries. I used it a lot as a child after fights with my brother. It’s great for keeping the swelling down of bruises, and I swear it helps them heal faster, although my mother used to joke that I was just a natural at recovery.”
“I’ve never even considered it.”
“With how often you fall, you really should.”
“Well, it’s more that…” Clover trails off suddenly while I’m focused on ensuring the oil soaks into her skin, including the smaller bruises wrapped further around her arm. Suddenly, her gentle, trembling fingers brush against my forearm near my elbow and it’s my turn to suddenly, unexpectedly, pull back.
“Sorry!” Clover gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that!”
I look down. In my haste to tend to Clover, I rolled my sleeves up too far and the twisted, melted remains of my burn scars stretching from my elbow and up under my shirt are on display. I’ve never been ashamed of my scars, but the questions they bring and the complicated mix of sympathy and curiosity in everyone’s eyes are enough for me to keep them hidden as often as I can.
Interesting that around Clover, I’m so comfortable I didn’t even think about it.
“It’s okay,” I say softly, taking her wrist and guiding one of her hands away from her shocked mouth. She looks ready to cry at her mistake and that’s the last thing I want. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“I don’t know what came over me,” she gasps. “I was just… I don’t even know.”
“You’re the first person to touch those scars in a long time.”
“Really?” She blinks up at me with wide, glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Please stop apologizing. I mean it when I say it’s okay, so please believe me.”
She hesitates for a second, then nods quickly, and her eyes dart back down to my scars. Her lips part, and the question that everyone asks hovers on her lips, but for some reason, she doesn’t say it. I give her time to work up to it by returning to tending her with the oil, but she still doesn’t ask. Not even when I finish with the oil and switch to the soothing balm.
“You can ask.” My voice remains low. There’s barely a few inches of space between us and I can feel her curious gaze burning into my arm even if she keeps her questions to herself.
“I don’t want to ask,” Clover says quietly.
I lean back but remain in her space so we’re face to face. “Yes, you do. Everyone does.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” she says defiantly as if she’s trying to prove something. To herself, maybe.
“But you’re curious.”
Her attention darts between my face and my arm while her heels bounce lightly off the cabinet door beneath her. “I don’t want to be insensitive.”
“How can you be when I’m giving you permission?”
Her eyes flick up and she watches me from under her lashes. From this close, I can see the slight indentation her teeth have left in her lower lip. “How did you get burned?” she whispers.