Page 27 of Marks of Rebellion

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." I hold my wrists in front of him. He removes the bandages and studies each wrist. When he finishes, he kisses my hands and sets them on his lap before removing his first aid kit out of his bag.

He drags his finger on my skin, next to a deep wound that never went away after the first day they handcuffed me. "This worries me. I'm surprised you never got an infection."

"I washed it with soap whenever I could."

"Smart girl." He sprays something on it then wraps it in gauze.

"I'm going to have scars, aren't I?"

He hesitates then looks at me. "Probably."

"Guess I'll have to wear bracelets or something."

He stays quiet and repeats the same thing on my other wrist then pats his legs. "Let me see your ankles."

I swing my legs up onto his thighs.

After he removes my water-soaked bandages, he scrutinizes my injuries but says nothing. The more time that passes without him speaking creates an anxious flutter in my chest.

His face hardens and turns red.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Are you mad at me?"

He picks his head up. "No. How could you think that?"

"You look angry and aren't saying anything."

He briefly closes his eyes. "I'm upset with what they did to you. You could have internal bleeding from these bruises or an infection from the sores."

"I don't. I'm fine," I try to reassure him.

He goes quiet again, shaking his head in tiny movements while wrapping my ankles up.

"I feel like you're mad at me," I blurt out.

My pulse beats in my neck.

I need to shut up.

He moves toward me, and I instinctively retreat.

His eyes widen. "I was going to pull you on my lap."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

What the heck is wrong with me?

He holds his hands up. "It's okay. I'll try not to move fast like that again."

I release a breath and scoot closer to him.

He slowly slides his hands under me and puts me on his lap. "Flower, I'm not mad at you. No one should be upset with you for your injuries."

Rationally, I understand what he's saying. I know it's the truth.

"I think I'm really screwed up," I whisper.