The Easy Part of Impossible - Sarah Tomp Page 0,79
rearrange it in her head.
She stumbled her way up the path, following Maggie’s damp footprints. At the top, she ignored the crowd, bolted for the spot where she’d left her clothes. She stumbled back to the fence, pulling them on along the way.
In her rush to escape, Ria slid under the fence too fast. The pain of metal slicing into her leg didn’t register until she was on the other side, panting. Blood, thick and red, poured from the gash downward, pooling in the dirt where she stood. It looked like a mangled heart.
Thirty-Seven
By the time Ria made it home, her entire leg, hip to toes, ached. The cut itself burned and throbbed. As she stepped out of the car and stood up, her head felt light and her vision moved in and out of blurry. She took a deep breath and concentrated on walking from the car to her front door. She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or irritated that her parents weren’t home.
Inside, she headed to the bathroom to investigate. She’d wrapped her shirt around her leg and now it was stuck tight to the gash. Her blood had dried, brown and stiff, marking a pool in the fabric. When she tried to lift it, the cut gushed again, bright and red, with a metallic smell that made her eyes water. She clamped the shirt back down and sat on the edge of the tub.
She’d never been badly hurt before. It was one of her assets. The fact she’d avoided injuries was remarkable for an athlete of her caliber. Most everyone broke or tore something eventually. After chipping her tooth, this was her second diving-related injury of significance. Both times she’d gotten hurt while running away.
Damn. It hurt.
She pulled out her phone, expecting a series of missed texts and calls. It felt like she’d been gone for way too long. But her phone was blank and empty. No one was looking for her.
Cotton answered his phone immediately.
“It’s Ria.”
“Yes.”
“How are you with blood?”
“Mine or yours?”
“Are you bleeding, Cotton? Are you hurt?”
“No. I thought this was theoretical.”
“Not theoretical. Actual. I cut my leg.”
Twenty minutes later he called her from her backyard and through the phone she directed him step by step into her house. “The glass door should be open.”
She heard it slide along its track and echoed through the phone. “It is.”
“Come in. Through the family room and up the stairs.”
“There are a lot of pictures of little Ria. Most of them are of her wearing medals at the pool.”
“Ignore them. My parents are short on imagination when it comes to household decor.” She could hear him down the hall. “Keep walking. Second door on the right.”
“I’m here.” He knocked.
“Come in.” She was still holding her phone.
The door opened slowly, and Cotton peeked in, looking wary.
“Can you help me?” she asked, not entirely sure what she wanted him to do.
“Yes.” He placed both their phones on the counter.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital.” She needed this taken care of before she had her physical for the NDT.
“We need to remove the covering and clean the area.”
“It won’t stop bleeding.” She stuck her leg, T-shirt and all, under the faucet the way Cotton guided. The water stung, and her blood flowed down the drain all the while she soaped and rinsed the gash.
He took a clean towel from the shelf and sat beside her on the edge of the tub. He’d never be able to lie down for a bath; he was way too long. He pressed the towel firmly along the cut. “Where can I find sturdy tape?”
She waited for him in the bathroom while he followed her directions, returning with a roll of duct tape and scissors. After she applied antibiotic ointment, he held her leg across his lap. “Butterfly bandages can work as well as stitches. It’s a longer cut than usually recommended, but I think we can take care of it.”
Once he showed her what he had in mind, they worked together to fold and cut the tape into the rough butterfly shape. The buggy part—the middle—was folded over so as not to stick to her wound, and then he used the wings to pull the two sides of her skin together.
Slowly, methodically, crisscrossing each one over the other, they worked together, bit by smidge by part by piece, closing the two sections of skin back together. Somewhere midway along her thigh she realized she wasn’t thinking about the pain anymore. Instead she