[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]
Hecate slowly unwound the bandages from around her midsection and peeled back the gauze pad over the wound in her side—the wound that still hadn’t healed, the one that still hurt somewhere deep in the wound. She stepped a little closer to the mirror hung near the door and reached to nudge the lamp a little closer. The stitches still held. The edges were faintly red, but not terribly inflamed. Still, it was tender. Still, it hurt.
She still hadn’t told Matt how bad it still was beneath the gauze and the bandage. J.T. knew, but she’d taken advantage of the fact that he had a lot of other things to be distracted by and used it to her advantage.
“But I can’t hide this much longer,” she whispered to herself, gently probing the edges of her wound. “Certainly not forever.”
Had the wound she’d left Teague Vaughan with after their last encounter been like this? Had he suffered from it the way she suffered now? If he had, her own wound was small penance to pay and if they ever saw each other again, she needed to get down on her knees and beg his forgiveness for what she’d done.
Of course, she was convinced that was a necessity either way, despite the assurances otherwise that people kept giving her. No one could be entirely forgiven without some act of penance. She was determined to pay hers, whatever form it took.
She discarded the old gauze pad and carefully settled a new one into place, winding the bandages around her midsection again. Today. She would go find J.T. today and let him have a look. He would worry, of course—he would want to tell Matt, too.
I can’t let him know. Not yet. She bit her lip, staring at herself in the mirror. Maybe not ever. Maybe I won’t have to.
It was a bit of a pipe dream, but a dream nonetheless—and finally, now, here, she had the chance for dreams.
