“I appreciate that.” James gave her a wry smile. “I’ll be right back.” The shop was quiet except for the sound of footsteps going down a short hallway and into a bathroom, then running water and a paper towel dispenser. When he returned, he scraped the second chair around to face her and got comfortable. He propped a thick gauze pad underneath the inflamed area of Celeste’s skin and doused it in saline, flushing away any flecks of sand and dirt.
Time had passed, but he kept sifting through what Celeste said, reflecting on the picture she had painted of her childhood and whatever years passed between. “Nothing wrong with wanting things.” The cleaning continued, James tossing damp pieces of cotton in a trash can nearby. He thought the flesh was pink around the cut, so he squeezed antibiotic gel onto it. “I wouldn’t say I’m a hedonist, but self-deprivation is a waste of time. Some people only know one state: how to suffer.”
He tore strips of tape off a roll and laid a fresh bandage on her.
“Speaking of suffering, I think that rib’s probably broken.”