Page 37 of Brutal
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I say, and I realize I’m not sure whether I’m talking to Mimosa or myself. I shake it off before she can respond. “My doctor friend is coming over. With antibiotics. That way you won’t have an excuse to get more blood and pus or whatever all over my floor.”
Mimosa lets out a small laugh. “Because that’s my fault. I’m the one who caned my own feet.”
“You might as well have,” I retort. “You’re the one who brought it on yourself.” I ignore the tiny, tiny stab of guilt I feel about not having paid attention to cleaning her feet before now. Not at hurting her; that part, I don’t regret. But maybe I should’ve paid more attention to the aftermath.
“I think drowning would be better than dying of infection,” Mimosa suggests. She looks at her feet, the same listless look in her eyes. “If you drown my sister, too, we could go four-for-four.”
I arch a brow at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. “Four for four?”
“Me,” Mimosa says. “My parents. Then Irene. All four, dead by water.”
It surprises me that she’s talking like this without being forced, but the flush in her cheeks tells me she’s not as aware as she would usually be. “Your parents drowned?” I ask, squeezing some antibiotic ointment onto my fingers and wiping them on the open cuts on the bottom of her feet. She hisses in pain, but she doesn’t move her feet.
I make a mental note to have Pat look into her family. Now that I know her name, I can dig into her past a little more.
“Yeah.” She wraps her arms around herself and slumps forward. “When I was eleven.” She makes a strange sound that’s a cross between a giggle and a sob. “I almost forgot. You reminded me.”
She was young when she lost her parents, then. “Who’d you live with after that?” I ask, curious despite myself. I’d at least been nineteen when mine had died, and honestly, I hadn’t really given a fuck.
“Irene,” she answers. “Irene took care of me, until she decided to be a whore and piss off Giulio Pavone and get me into this shit and?—”
She cuts herself off. A few tears roll down her cheeks.
Without even realizing what I’m doing, I lift my left hand, clumsily wiping away her tears. “Jesus, don’t cry,” I mumble, suddenly feeling awkward. What am I supposed to say to that? I shouldn’t be feeling bad for her. She’s just a whore, a sex slave, and nothing more. Her life before me doesn’t even matter anymore.
“Don’t you want me to cry?” she says, deadpan once more. “A broken toy who can’t fight you, who hangs onto your every word and strokes your ego?”
I make a face at her. “No,” I say curtly, and I’m surprised to find that I mean it. If I wanted someone like that, I’d have found a crybaby like Hunter’s girl, someone easy to break and mold like he’d done to her. “I mean… I don’t want someone who tries to fuck with my head and tell me I’m fucking wrong all the time, but nah, I don’t want a pain in the ass little slut who constantly needs attention to survive.”
“Make up your mind,” Mimosa mumbles. “You don’t want obedient or submissive, but you don’t want strong or opinionated either. You’ve never been satisfied with anything in your life, have you?”
The words cut like a knife.
“No,” I find myself saying. It’s true. Nothing has ever been good enough. Even after I started the firm, even after I found success with my business, nothing held my attention for long. I’ve always been searching for something more, and so far, nothing has given me what I want. “Have you?”
“I liked my classes.” Mimosa shivers and pulls her legs closer to herself. “I liked researching. I liked writing papers. Maybe that’s boring. But it was my life. I was doing something with myself.”
I grab her ankle, but before I can fumble with the bandages to try to wrap her feet, the intercom buzzes. “Stay here,” I say, knowing the order is unnecessary but not sure what else to say.
I get up and tap my phone to see who’s in the elevator. As expected, it’s Hunter. Less expected, he brought Stef. They’re both dressed in semi-fancy clothes. Stef’s got long sleeves, like always, but the skirt of her dress is very short.
I try not to make a face. This is a favor I’m asking of Hunter, and if it means dealing with his pet, fine.
I activate the elevator so they can get to my floor and go wait by the foyer for them to arrive.
“Thanks for this,” I say when the elevator door opens, motioning them inside. “I think Mimosa’s got an infection.”
“If she gives you an STI…” Hunter says as he strides inside. Stef follows at a much less confident pace, eying me warily.
I roll my eyes and lead them to the living room, where Mimosa is still sitting on the ottoman. Stef inhales sharply when she sees Mimosa’s feet, and she huddles closer to Hunter.
“It’s not an STI,” I say. “Dunno how it happened. Mimosa is just really clumsy.”
Mimosa laughs. “He caned my feet, doctor. Then he made me walk on them.”
I scowl at her, but I can’t argue.
Stef flinches, and the look she turns on me is one of fear and… accusation? Does she even have enough of a personality to look at me like that?