Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
But, as Kas turned off the shower, dried himself with a bleached white towel, and tossed his hair over his shoulders, I saw how others would see him.
His silvery scars. His tortured eyes.
His long hair and powerful, lean body.
He was a man who’d stepped out of the jungle but still carried it in his heart.
He didn’t look safe.
He looked dangerous and unpredictable, and I hoped upon hope that he wouldn’t have any blackouts while being treated. If he hurt anyone or lashed out against medical staff, the chances of him coming home with me were slim.
He’d be admitted to a psychiatric facility.
They’d keep him until his mind was deemed “fixed.”
They’d ruin him even further.
That night, after sharing a meal of hospital-prepared potato salad, meatloaf, and raspberry Jell-O, we fell asleep in the same room for the first time. Eating food with flavor—even if it was bland hospital fare—ensured both of us couldn’t keep our eyes open.
It was such a novelty to have a belly full of warm, hearty food. And judging by how quickly Kas passed out, reclined in a black pleather chair with his legs propped up on a stool, his body had accepted food he hadn’t had to hunt or gather and finally shut down to heal.
I watched him for as long as I could, comfy and safe in the single bed he’d gallantly given me. A part of me worried he’d wake in the night and his mind would be somewhere else entirely. He’d forget how he came to be here and hurt himself or me. Those fears kept me awake even as my eyelashes drooped. Each time the squeak of sneakers sounded in the corridor or a nurse popped her head in to check on us, I worried that Kas would wake and snap.
But he slept soundly.
No thrashing, no mumbling, just a dead weight in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest and his handsome face slack with exhaustion.
And I’d slept too.
The next day was similar to the first.
We ate breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast together—Kas moaning with every buttery mouthful—before indulging in yet another hot shower. After, we were once again poked and prodded with tests, questions, and had our blood drawn. Kas finally let them examine his arm, submitting to yet another X-ray. The bone hadn’t been too badly broken after all, and the minor fracture had already healed enough not to require further casts.
I wondered if Kas would also mention the backyard vasectomy he’d undergone as a young boy. Or if he’d ever be open enough to give the true story of what his body had endured.
I couldn’t voice the absolute obscenities that’d been done to him, but his scars spoke for themselves, ensuring the doctors were extra diligent in their tests.
The results came back in the afternoon, revealing Kas was (like I suspected) deficient in key minerals and vitamins.
The doctor, whose name was Kenneth Wright, administered an injection with boosters of each requirement he needed, explaining calmly and quietly that it would help his body heal as Kas went stock-still, his nostrils flaring as the needle sank into his skin. That the vitamin cocktail would give him the best chance of repairing the damage his concussion had done.
That night, Kas didn’t sleep as well as the first night, but he didn’t have a nightmare or give the nurses any reason to restrain him, either.
I stayed jumpy for any sign that he wasn’t coping, and the strain of being highly aware of him slowly took a toll on my nerves. I’d been on my guard ever since arriving in a public place with him. And I stipulated I’d stay close by for the safety of others’ as well as mine.
I knew how Kas would come across to people.
They’d judge him for being overbearing, dominating, and swift to anger. I caught them looking at me occasionally, their thoughts obvious, but no one said anything while they nursed him back to health. As long as he didn’t come across as too threatening, then they had no reason to stop him from going home with me once we were cleared.
On the third morning, the concussion specialist finally called Kas up for an appointment. He apologized for the delay and waited for both of us to follow him to his office, but Kas caught my eyes and shook his head.
Kas hadn’t admitted it, but I’d guessed the truth of why he wanted to attend the consultation on his own. He’d accepted that his vertigo and headaches were part of his concussion, but I knew they scared him—yet another thing that took away his control.
So, I let him go.
I trusted he’d be able to keep his mind in the present, and we were separated for the first time since leaving the valley.
It made me grateful that he was calm enough to visit with the doctor without me. I’d been prepared to be his crutch for however long he needed me, but watching him march down the corridor next to a complete stranger, his back ramrod straight and hands balled, squeezed my heart.