Bruised, Vain and Confused

by Siobhan Knight
28 Jun 2012 14:26 (updated 28 Jun 2012 14:26) | 0 comment(s)

Jenna and Harper are going to kill me. Not literally, obviously and not because of the car accident. Not even because I kept it from them until Chance badgered it out of me. They both know that if it had been something horrible, I wouldn’t have kept quiet. If I’d been badly hurt, I would have let them know from the ER. If I’d needed them, I would have called or had someone call. Josephina Patel, one of the nurses at the hospital who’s also a witch, even offered to get Jenna for me, knowing that being left around for observations and CT-Scans wasn’t going to be fun or remotely entertaining.

I really didn’t want them to worry.

I didn’t lie when I said I only walked away with bruises and bumps, but that’s only because I healed some of the scrapes and abrasions while waiting for the ambulance. Mr. Clancy, the driver wasn’t too badly hurt either, and I took care of a few of the deeper gashes on his face and neck. I probably could have done more, for both of us, but I’m not sure the strength of my healing and didn’t want to hurt him while trying to help him.

So I was my own guinea pig. I focused on trying to figure out the worst of my injuries aside from what I could see, and healing those. Considering that I’d hit my head when that idiot came out of nowhere and t-boned us, it probably wasn’t a good idea. I totally passed out in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

Of course, the EMTs immediately thought ‘concussion’ or ‘internal bleeding’ or ‘sub cranial hematoma’ and any other horrible things that can happen when a person smashes their head against a window in a car accident. I think Dad knew but hospital policy wouldn’t let him near me to examine me once one of the EMTs gave my name, and it sort of snowballed from there.

I was too tired to argue or even try to make up an excuse. Dad says that it’s a good thing because my excuses when it comes to magic are usually pretty lame.

I really planned on going to work today, or at least getting out and meeting Quin for lunch. I run my fingers over the five little stitches along my temple and the one on my chin. Only three stitches there, but still. Yes, I’m vain and I loathe the idea of scars, even though Josephina told me she can take care of it if I come back in a day or two. Officially on record, the plastic surgeon who sewed me up is good enough to not leave a scar, but Josephina says she’ll make sure of it.

There are some perks to being in The Coven, I guess.

The bruising around my right eye looks like someone hit me, or I walked into something. It’s not as bad as it was, but Mom wouldn’t heal it, saying that in some cases natural healing is just fine. Dad agreed and Chris told me I could be on a poster for a battered women’s shelter. Yeah, he knows how to lift my ego and make me feel better.

It’s not even that big of a deal because I can always glamour myself into not looking like a punching bag. I can’t hide the bruising on my ribcage, or the big ugly one on my hip, but no one is going to see those. I want to say that it looks worse than it is, what with the looking like a bear beat me with a barbell but I’m not so sure. I’ve got bruised ribs and a deep muscle contusion on the hip. I feel it when I walk and lifting my arms isn’t too much fun. I must not be hiding it as well I thought because even if he’s teasing me, Chris did bring me some of Mom’s special tea.

I really want to do the whole ‘business as usual’ thing but Dad is hovering. He’s on call (he’s always on call) but as long as he doesn’t have to be at the hospital, he’s hanging around at home. He’s in his office, on phone calls and checking patient files but I know he’s paying attention. He’s even asked if Jenna and Harper are coming over today. He knows that Jenna will mother hen me and keep me out of trouble.

I feel bad because if I can’t escape from Dad’s watchful eye, then I’m going to have reschedule on Quin again. I really don’t want to do it because I hate pulling the pity and sympathy card. That’s part of the reason I didn’t tell Jenna and Harper. Sure, I like getting attention. For my dancing. For my brains. Yes, sometimes for looking smoking hot and awesome. Not because some idiot was texting and driving and didn’t notice a red light or the big car crossing the intersection.

I don’t even know why I told Chance. It’s not like he’s a good friend and I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I think I just wanted him to leave me alone and if I told him the truth, he’d feel stupid for bothering me and go away. Except he didn’t. I’d say he was faking that he felt bad if it wasn’t for the damn get well bouquet and chocolates that arrived this morning. I mean, I swear I said I wasn’t hurt, and I don’t know if it’s his idea of a joke or if he sincerely just wanted to do something nice for me.

I mean, really. This FJ56_330x370.jpg is what he sent.

Jenna keeps insisting that he likes me, and I’m starting to think she might be onto something. Gawd, I don’t want Chance to like me, not like that. I’m willing to give him a chance (no pun intended) and be his friend, but I don’t want to date him … and I don’t want him wanting to date me. Yes, he’s cute. (Ok, between us, he is hot.) But he’s not my type. And Jenna likes him, so why can’t he like Jenna?

There’s an idea. Maybe he likes the chase. Maybe if I start being nice to him, he’ll lose interest and look elsewhere? I feel the urge to point giant flags and neon signs at Jenna. She does deserve to meet a nice guy and be happy. To get that dating experience, even if it doesn’t turn into the romance of her life. Although maybe pointing Chance in her direction isn’t the best tactic for that. I kinda think he’s more playboy than boyfriend.

(Which then, could be sorta insulting if he does like me…)

Quintin would be much more suited to Jenna. Of course, it goes without saying that I kinda have developed a soft spot for him. I don’t know what it is, but once I got past the whole crush thing and accepted the status quo (Yeah, okay working things out with Harper helped with all of that), we just kind of seemed to click. I like talking to him, and he seems to like talking to me. I’ve honestly never had a guy friend before outside of Harper. Guys always never seem to see the person and just want to get into my pants. It’s nice to talk to someone and know that they’re not plotting how to get me out of my clothes. Yeah, I’m sure of that with Quin. He’s sweet and protective and the sort of guy that you wonder why he’s single. Except I think it’s more him than lack of interest from the female population. I think he’s confused and hesitant with relationships and getting close to people because of what he is and what happened to him.

No, I’m not suddenly empathic and telepathic. It’s in the things he says and doesn’t say, and how he reacts. I don’t know, if I lost my whole family and was a werewolf, I might be hesitant too. When you get close to people, they hurt you (Jesse, the ass). Or you hurt them (that’s what Jenna was worried about). But if you don’t get close then you miss out. It’s a catch-22.

Speaking of Jesse, at least this gives me an excuse to put off Jesse for a few more days. I know I shouldn’t meet with him. I shouldn’t want to meet with him. But dammit, I want to confront him. I have the right to make him look me in the eyes and tell me why he used me and cheated on me. I want him to know that I’m not stupid and I won’t be toyed with again.

Bruised and battered isn’t a good look for getting that point across, though. I kinda suspect that if Dad even feels a tingle of magic, he’ll be all over me to see what I’m up to.

I’m going to take a nap. I’m more tired than I thought. Jenna will be over this afternoon and I know she’s going to fuss at me. But then there will be movies and distraction. No worries about stupid boys or anything like that.

And ibuprofen. Prescription strength.


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