The Eye of the Beholder (8)
“Just what are you doing?” Tabitha asked, coming to look over Preston’s shoulder.
“Trying to figure out what I can do to earn a living without having to leave home. I’m almost out of money and I won’t let you support me.”
She smiled at his calling her place home. In the past month, despite the fact that he had often been a total pain in the ass about things, she had gotten used to his being here. For the first week she’d done nothing when he wasn’t sleeping but feed him and take care of his wounds. She’s changed bandages, checked the stitches, made certain there was no infection and made damned good and sure that he took his meds.
By the second week the bandages came off. Even though she knew what to expect she still tried to hide her feelings when she looked at his face. Whoever had done this to him had avoided his eyes and left his nose in tact but the rest of his face looked like a jigsaw puzzle of cuts and slashes. The worst was a long one that ran from his temple down to his chin cutting the corner of his mouth. The rest were shorter but equally as disfiguring.
He had seen her feelings in her eyes. “I make the Phantom look pretty,” he’d said, his natural good humor surfacing for a brief second.
She didn’t deny that, she couldn’t. But she’d played along. “I think you’ll look better in a black mask though.” His response was morose silence. “Alright, truthfully, it’s pretty bad,” she’d finally told him. “But a good plastic surgeon can do wonders.”
“I’ll think about that,” was his only response.
Now, a month later, the stitches had come out. He had refused to return to the doctor, putting his trust in her abilities to do that just as he’d trusted her to take care of him. But she knew that this was only the beginning of his healing.
“What kind of jobs are out there,” Tabitha now asked, setting her coffee down so she could pull up a chair to sit beside him.
“Trying to figure out what I can do to earn a living without having to leave home. I’m almost out of money and I won’t let you support me.”
She smiled at his calling her place home. In the past month, despite the fact that he had often been a total pain in the ass about things, she had gotten used to his being here. For the first week she’d done nothing when he wasn’t sleeping but feed him and take care of his wounds. She’s changed bandages, checked the stitches, made certain there was no infection and made damned good and sure that he took his meds.
By the second week the bandages came off. Even though she knew what to expect she still tried to hide her feelings when she looked at his face. Whoever had done this to him had avoided his eyes and left his nose in tact but the rest of his face looked like a jigsaw puzzle of cuts and slashes. The worst was a long one that ran from his temple down to his chin cutting the corner of his mouth. The rest were shorter but equally as disfiguring.
He had seen her feelings in her eyes. “I make the Phantom look pretty,” he’d said, his natural good humor surfacing for a brief second.
She didn’t deny that, she couldn’t. But she’d played along. “I think you’ll look better in a black mask though.” His response was morose silence. “Alright, truthfully, it’s pretty bad,” she’d finally told him. “But a good plastic surgeon can do wonders.”
“I’ll think about that,” was his only response.
Now, a month later, the stitches had come out. He had refused to return to the doctor, putting his trust in her abilities to do that just as he’d trusted her to take care of him. But she knew that this was only the beginning of his healing.
“What kind of jobs are out there,” Tabitha now asked, setting her coffee down so she could pull up a chair to sit beside him.
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