Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Rory, love you, sis. But if it’s anyone who’s going to be sorry, it’ll be me. Let Ronnie take care of you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I go to touch her shoulder but think better of it and instead kiss the crown of her head. I’m grabbing my keys, sliding on a pair of shoes, and walking out the door in record time.
20
RONNIE
“Rory, honey. I don’t think I can clean you up much more. How do you feel about taking a shower?” I ask softly, afraid she’ll break down at any moment to the point where it’ll take a toll on her already beat-up body.
“Yeah, this is really bad, isn’t it?” She looks at me. Most adults would lie. I’m not most, and I’m unable to do so now.
“Do you want the truth?” I give her the option. Rory nods in response. “It’s not ideal, and I’m hoping your brother doesn’t go off half-cocked and get himself some pretty, silver bracelets. Then again, I’d be there every day to visit him and bake him a cake full of nail files.” Rory cracks a smile, and I continue on, “But your brother is smart. He’s got a great group of friends. And until we hear from him, all we can do is hope for the best.” I hold my hand out, more than ready to guide her into the bathroom. I’m sure washing her hair will be impossible. Rinsing it might be the only thing she can tackle for today.
“Yeah, I hope he’s dead. I hope Mom used whatever she could to her advantage and took him out. People like him don’t deserve to walk free. All they’re good for is fertilizer in the ground.” The vehemence in her statement reminds me of how Jude sounded earlier.
“I agree.” Rory slides off the barstool, hitting the tile floor harder than I’d have liked. Especially since she doesn’t have any shoes on her feet. “How far away do you live from here?” She’s wearing a baggy shirt and shorts, no shoes, only socks. I’m assuming her phone wasn’t in reaching distance to call anyone. That, or she was running on adrenaline, and her focus was on getting to Jude.
“In a car, like, ten minutes. Walking and running more like thirty minutes.” She looks away from me, probably worried I’ll judge her, but that’s definitely not the case.
“Damn,” I reply as we walk through the house. I’m mentally cataloguing what I have here at Jude’s place that she can wear after her shower. Rory is smaller than me, but I should have a pair of shorts she can fold over, and there’s always a shirt of Jude’s she can use as a top.
“Yeah, I know calling the cops might have been a better idea. Except we’ve gone that route before, and nothing helped. A restraining order is nothing but a glorified piece of paper. The cops show up, he’s gone, and then all they can do is make a note. Mom went to court, tried to tell the judge that this would never help and she was scared not only for me and herself. Mom, she’s selfless, worrying about other women and kids he would do this to.” We make it into the bathroom. I turn on the water, making sure the temperature is lukewarm. My brother used to get into fights with other boys in the neighborhood. They’d make some kind of smart remark about me, and Zane would lose his shit. I tried to hold him back too many times, until I finally would tell him he’s being stupid. When I’d rush to the bar to tell Dad, he’d shrug his shoulders and say, “Serves ‘em right.”
“You did what you had to do with what you had to work with.” I keep my eyes averted, giving her a semblance of privacy while she attempts to undress.
“Ronnie, I can’t do this on my own.” The bathroom fills with steam, and I abandon keeping my back to her while she wrestles with her emotions.
“Well, you won’t ever have to,” I state, more than likely overstepping my boundaries since this is Jude’s sister, but ask me if I care.
“Thank you. I kind of meant getting my clothes off.” A tiny smile appears for what I’m sure is the first time all day.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll help you. Shirt first?” I ask, glad she won’t attempt to do this on her own and potentially make her injuries worse.
“Please.”
“Alright, we’re going to do one arm, stretch the shirt out a bit, and then go from there. Let me know if it gets to be too much. I can always grab a pair of scissors and cut the fabric.” In fact, the nurses at the hospital would do the same. I really do think Rory should see a doctor. Broken ribs could lead to punctured lungs, and while I’ve cleaned my fair share of bumps and scrapes, this is way out of my comfort zone.