I'm about to sit by Marcus and Jode when I see Daryn enter the women's room.
I should go talk to her. Clear the air. The sooner the better.
"The men's room is that way, G," Marcus says.
"But Daryn's not in the men's room," Jode adds.
Marcus's eyebrows climb. "Ohhh."
"Get your asses up and watch the door," I tell them. "And shut up? Like, preemptively shut up about anything you do or do not observe in the next ten minutes."
When I step inside, Daryn is splashing cold water on her face at the sink. She doesn't react at all when she sees me. Just grabs a paper towel and dries off.
"Um … are you lost?" she asks. Her eyes are red, and I can't tell if she's been crying or if she's just tired.
"No." I reach into my pockets and pull out the butterfly bandages and antiseptic I grabbed earlier from a medical kit. It was smart of her to wrap the flannel around her waist. You wouldn't be able to see the bloodstains on the plaid pattern unless you were looking. I was looking.
Daryn glances toward the door.
"No one'll come in."
Her shoulders relax. She unties her flannel slowly and sets it on the sink.
I stand behind her, putting the supplies on the counter.
The gray T-shirt she's wearing is sticking to the wound as she tries to lift it up. "Can you-?"
"Yeah, I got it." She props her arms on the sink and squeezes her eyes shut as I peel the fabric up.
I almost can't contain my reaction. Three gashes run sideways across her lower back where her spine curves. They're deep cuts. Angry.
Instantly, so am I. She dealt with this kind of danger. I wasn't there to help. None of us were. It's not right.
I draw a breath and concentrate on settling down. There's nothing I can do to change this right now except treat it. But when the times comes, whatever did this to her is going to suffer.
I notice there are also pale scars running perpendicular to the cuts, faint lines on her bronze skin. Daryn told me how she got them, escaping from the mental hospital where she ended up when she started having visions. She's been through a hell of a lot in the past couple of years. Most of it on her own.
"Is it bad?" she asks.
I clear my throat. "On a scale of one to ten this is probably a five."
"Will I live?"
I meet her eyes in the mirror. "Yeah. You'll live."
I clean her up with some wet paper towels, then use the gauze pads to stanch the bleeding. Since I'm standing right behind her she can't see robohand, but its whirring sound seems louder than normal, and bad. I use it as little as possible, ripping open the packaging for the butterfly bandages and gauze with my teeth.
As I treat the cuts, a whole other part of my mind is noticing unrelated things, like the white lace peeking above the waistline of her jeans. The goose bumps on her skin and all the ways her body curves. The clean, flowery smell of her hair makes my heart bang against my ribs.
I'll be revisiting these details at a later time, no doubt. And often.
When I apply the antiseptic, Daryn drops her head and laughs a shaky laugh. "Um, you said five? It hurts like a ten."
"Five was a preliminary number until I got a better look. This is a seven point five-that's an official diagnosis." In several spots the cuts graze muscle. I'd be howling if I were in her place. I'd be crawling up the walls and begging to be put out of my misery. "But the good news is you won't need stitches if you can keep these bandages on."
"I promise I won't rip them off." I know she's smiling but I keep my head down. Keep on task. "Can I ask you something? How do you work with Cordero? She's so pushy."
"She's not that bad. She can be bullheaded but her heart's in the right place. I know she screwed up with Shadow but I think she feels bad."
"How can you tell? Did she appoint someone on the team to feel feelings for her?"
"Nah. Some people just have a hard time saying they're sorry. They show it through their actions."
"They showpologize?"
"Exactly."
"I think I know someone like that."
"Oh, definitely. Marcus is the worst. He'll eat his shoes before he apologizes."
Daryn laughs. "Weird how I don't remember that about him at all." She twists her hair over her shoulder, doing this spiral thing I remember, and shifts her weight. "You and I have made some real memories in bathrooms."
I almost fumble the butterfly bandage in my hand.
She's bringing this up?
Last time we were in a bathroom together it was in Rome and we kissed. A lot. First and only time that happened. I have no idea why she's mentioning it and I don't want to know.
"That's right," I say, like I'd forgotten about it. "Okay. All done." I wad up the trash and toss it.