Crazy Girl(17)

Setting the jug down, I took her wrist. “I’m going to lay you down so I can rinse your eyes out.” To my surprise, she didn’t argue. Holding her wrist, I placed my other hand behind her neck and helped her lie back. She had black smeared all over her face and hands from her makeup. Looked like war paint. I’d like to be that guy every girl dreams of, and say she still looked beautiful, but that’s not what was running through my mind as I stared at her. She looked…beat. It wasn’t just her puffy eyes and dirty face that made me feel that way either. When I really thought about it, she’d looked that way since the moment I’d laid eyes on her in the bar. Just plain beat. The cold hard bat of life had taken a few swings at her. That’s not to say she wasn’t attractive—Hannah was a beautiful woman—but something hung around her…a weight you couldn’t see but knew was there by the way she carried herself.

All the red flags that warned a man he should steer clear of a woman had been raised long before and were still flapping in the breeze. Now there were sirens, like the kind you hear when a tornado is about to hit. Loud, blaring warnings screamed to stay away. This woman was damaged goods; burned, scorned, and very likely too far gone.

It was a pity, too. Because damn, she was beautiful. Yes, physically she kicked ass, but there was more. A few times, amidst all the crazy talk, she’d laughed. Her smile was bright and genuine when she gave way to it. She did know how to have a good time. And her eyes were intense. When I spoke, she watched me, she listened—she was invested in hearing me. Those were things a man liked—a man like me, anyway.

“I want you to tilt your head back, and I’m going to slowly pour the water. Okay?” Nodding, she did as I instructed. “You’re going to have to try to open your eyes so we can flush them out. I’ll help.”

With my left hand, I pried her right eyelid open and winced. Her eyeball was red as hell. Damn, it looked bad. I wondered if maybe I didn’t need to get her to the emergency room. “Okay, here it goes.” Slowly, I poured the water with my right hand, and she clenched her eyes closed. “Just a few more times on each eye.” We did this process a few times on each side before she was finally able to keep them open a bit longer. Everything was going well until she shifted unexpectedly and the water poured over her face. Jerking up, she started hacking and coughing, her face turning bright red.

“I got water up my nose.” She wheezed between gasps for air.

This poor girl was a train wreck.

Her rosy face was wet, straggly strands of wet hair stuck to her forehead and neck, her eyes clenched closed. In that moment her spirit animal would have been a raccoon. She was so pitiful it was kind of cute—in a drowned animal kind of way. Going back to the passenger side of my truck, I dug in my gym bag and found the towel I’d used after my shower that day. I hated giving her my damp gym towel, but I figured it was better than nothing. When I handed it to her, she murmured, “Thank you,” before dabbing her face.

“Smells good,” she noted. I smirked, again containing my laughter. The woman was blind, and in a panic, but still noted the scent of my towel. Who does that? Opening her eyes, she widened them attempting to keep them open. My desire to laugh evaporated as I winced, noting how awful her eyes looked. They were redder than before. Her macing herself—funny. Her potentially losing her eyesight—not funny.

“Maybe we should take you to the ER,” I suggested, my voice cool and even, attempting to hide the concern I felt. The last thing I wanted to do was freak her out.

“No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get home and use some eye drops.”

“You can’t drive like this. At least let me give you a ride home.” I waited for her to say no.

Burying her face in the towel for a moment, she mumbled, “I would appreciate that,” and it honestly shocked the hell out of me.

She didn’t live far from the bar where we met, and she was quiet all the way to her house except for directions she’d murmur to me as I drove. When I pulled in her driveway, it was dead-of-night dark; she hadn’t left a porch light on. But even the dark depth of night couldn’t hide the state of her house. My headlights showcased its poor form. The gate to the fence leading to the backyard was barely hanging on, halfway fallen; her shutters were crooked, and some of the siding was missing. A tarp lay over part of the roof, a strong indication there was a leak. The place was a dump. Why the hell was she living here? I wondered if living here had anything to do with her attitude. The house certainly matched a huge chunk of her personality.

“I’m going to help you to the door,” I informed her and climbed out before she had a chance to argue with me. She was already halfway out of the truck when I reached her side, one eye squeezed shut. I rested my case.

“I think I can manage, Wren.”

“You’re practically blind, and it’s dark out. I’m helping you.” She didn’t argue when I took her arm and led her up the porch stairs. It took her a few moments to find her house key on her keyring as she was feeling for it more than she was trying to see it. The headlights from my truck were still on, but they only offered limited lighting. When she managed to get the front door open, she reached her arm inside and found the light switch, turning on a lamp. Stumbling inside, she dropped her purse and went straight to the kitchen. I glanced down the path she’d walked but made sure to stay with my hand on the door, not sure if I was overstepping my bounds by coming in or not. The living room was large and led into the kitchen and dining area. I couldn’t decide if the rooms looked big because they actually were, or if it was because they were empty. Something seemed off. There was no furniture. Not even a damn folding chair. Even the lamp she’d turned on when she’d entered was sitting on the floor. There were stacks of books piled up against the wall, tons of them. She’d mentioned when we chatted on the app that she loved reading so that wasn’t that surprising. Maybe a little weird that she had them stacked in her living room, but no furniture.