Chapter 757
[ 496 words ]
Chapter 757:
Caroline swallowed the last of the cool water, but it did nothing to wash away the foul, chemical bitterness clinging to her tongue.
A shudder ran through her, a full-body rejection of the taste. She gagged, her stomach muscles clenching violently.
Jarrod’s hand was there instantly, taking the glass from her trembling fingers. He moved with an unnerving, fluid grace, turning to place it on the metal tray of the bedside table.
The soft clink of glass against steel was unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
It was just a sound, but it pulled her attention. Her gaze followed his movement and then slid past him, toward the small bathroom sink.
The vanity mirror was still there, flipped facedown on the counter.
The image didn’t need to be visible. It was burned into the back of her eyelids. A monster’s face. Skin mottled with angry red patches, weeping blisters. Hair matted with sweat and mud.
A wave of nausea, entirely separate from the medicine, churned in her gut. It was pure, unadulterated shame. A level of appearance anxiety she had never known, so potent it felt like a physical illness.
J𝗼in 𝘵𝗁𝘦 𝖼𝗼𝗺𝗺𝘂ոі𝘁𝗒 а𝘵 g𝖺𝗹𝗻o𝗏е𝗹𝘀.𝗰о𝗆
The unfinished questions about her assessment score flickered through her mind — had she passed? had all this suffering been for nothing? — but the thoughts dissolved instantly, swallowed whole by the raw, devouring humiliation. The scores didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the horror of her own reflection.
She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand the way he was looking at her.
His eyes held no disgust, no pity. They held that same intense, focused adoration she’d seen just before he’d kissed her nose. And that was worse. It was unbearable that he could look at this… this creature… with such tenderness.
She threw herself backward against the pillows. Her hands shot out, grabbing the edge of the crisp white hospital blanket.
With a single, desperate motion, she yanked it up and over her head.
Darkness.
She curled into a tight ball, a wounded animal burrowing into its den, shutting out the world. The thin cotton of the blanket was a pathetic shield, but it was all she had.
She heard him sigh. It was a sound of weary frustration, not anger.
The legs of the chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he pulled it closer to the bed. He didn’t speak. She felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat down.
His uninjured right hand reached out, the knuckles brushing against the blanket near her shoulder. He gave the corner a gentle tug.
“Caroline,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “You need to breathe.”
“Leave me alone,” she choked out, her voice muffled by the fabric. She clutched the edge of the blanket from the inside, her knuckles white. “Don’t touch it.”
His hand didn’t move away. Instead, he laid his palm flat against the mound of blanket that covered her shoulder, a warm, heavy pressure.
“It’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice a soothing rumble. “Reed said there won’t be any scars. Not a single one.”
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