Juliette laughed and kissed me, and I got so lost in her love, I didn’t realize until much later that she never took back her words.
34
Juliette
Ifinished applying makeup for the first time in three weeks and smiled at my reflection. I looked ready for my first day back to work. Felt it too. Well, I felt mostly ready. Somewhat ready.
The doctor cleared me to walk without the boot, and even though it still ached a little, it was okay as long as I didn’t walk too much. My cuts were mostly healed. Some of the deeper cuts on my chest and neck were still red and raw-looking, but those were hidden under my high-collared shirt.
The cut on my face looked good. The plastic surgeon was optimistic that it would fade to be almost invisible, but even if it left a scar, I knew how lucky I was. The swelling and numbness in my lips still affected my speech, though. It had improved a lot, but even a little bit made it hard to talk clearly. And by clearly, I mean as clear as I usually did, which wasn’t perfect to begin with.
That’s what made me nervous. I’d be busy and distracted trying to catch up, and everyone was going to be curious about what happened, and talking while I was distracted was tough under the best circumstances.
But I’d be fine. I’d been through much more these past few weeks. Talking to my colleagues couldn’t be any worse than speaking to the police. I probably could have used another week or so to heal, but I needed to get back to normalcy. And Dylan needed it even more than me, though he’d never admit it. Even if work was a mess, it was worth it to show him how strong I still was.
The last few weeks had been tough, but I’d come through on the other side of it stronger than ever. If the attack had happened even a few months earlier, I never would’ve been able to talk to the police the way I did. I would’ve beat myself up over all the things I should’ve done better when Kayla attacked me. But I wasn’t feeling that way. I was feeling… Proud. Capable. Strong.
So I really hated that while I was feeling the most confident I’d ever been, Dylan was losing faith in me. He would never admit that, and he’d be devastated to know I felt that way, but I did. I didn’t blame him for being extra protective before and after Kayla’s attack. He’d been justifiably worried about me. He was right when he said I wouldn't be able to talk, run, or fight my way out of trouble. He was right that I was nervous to talk to the police.
But it was over. I understood his fear that I hadn’t been able to save myself easily, and I still wouldn’t if it happened again. But I’d survived, and what were the chances of anything like that happening again? We didn’t have any more enemies. Leo had bigger problems than us, and Kayla was going to jail. After I’d braved talking to the police, I’d found out that my request for leniency was so naive it was almost laughable. The judge expressed her appreciation of my request even though shewouldn’t honor it, so that was something. I was still proud of myself for saying it.
Maybe it was better anyway. I’d said it with the thought that Dylan wouldn’t have married a woman who wasn’t a good person deep down. If she was a good person who just lost her way, who got dragged down by Leo and in over her head with drugs, then she shouldn’t be unfairly punished. She should get the help she needed. I wanted that for her, but even more for Dylan. I wanted to help him move forward from the crushing guilt he was feeling. I wanted peace so we could move forward. But he was happy that she was going to jail. He wanted her punished. And for me to be safe.
And yet, even though I was safe and proud of myself, Dylan was still too caught up in his self-recrimination and worrying to celebrate that with me. I understood it in the beginning, and I appreciated everything he did to help make my recovery easier. But it was time for him to move on. Back to normalcy. Back to believing I could take care of myself.
I was starting to realize how much my dyspraxia affected Dylan. For someone who would do anything in his power to protect the people he loved, my dyspraxia made his job a lot harder. I loved him for how much he cared, and considering how much he’d worried pre-Kayla, he should’ve been commended for how infrequently he’d let glimpses of that show. But now... Now, I felt the weight of his worries, and it felt a lot like doubt. Like he no longer believed that I was capable. Love and protection and guilt and pride were all tangled up, and I needed to help us untangle it. That’s why I was so eager to return to work. I needed to show him I was still as strong as he’d always believed I was.
A light knock on the bathroom door interrupted my musings, and then Dylan was there, standing behind me. With his hands on my shoulders, he pulled me against him, my back against his front. I tried to turn towards him, but he held me in place, hischin resting gently on my shoulder as he held my gaze through the mirror.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
I trembled under the rumble of his reverent tone, from the love that shone in his eyes.
He gently traced his finger across my lips and over my scar.
“You are beautiful, inside and out, and nothing could change that. Hold your head high, go to work, and be your kick-ass self.”
I laughed, as I knew he intended.
He turned me to face him. “Are you nervous?”
“A little. There’s going to be a lot of attention on me. I’ll be okay though.”
“You’ll do great, baby. Send me texts when you can, let me know you’re doing okay, and call me after work.”
“I will. I’m going to miss you.”
“Me too. I hate the reason for it, but I enjoyed being with you and taking care of you the past few weeks.”
I knew he meant every word. My insecurities might’ve been snowballing from his over-the-top protectiveness, but it all came from a place of love. I smiled up at him.
Dylan kissed the top of my head. “You got this, baby. Let’s go.”
I pausedoutside the door to the therapy room, took a deep breath, and pictured Dylan and me in the mirror this morning. I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high. I could handle answering questions about what happened. I could handle questions about my injuries. I could handle repeating myself if my speech was worse than usual. It was time to move on.Strong as fuck.I smiled, imagining Dylan smiling at that as I walked in.
“Welcome back!” Katie met me at the door, hugging me long and hard, before I was passed around from one hug to another.Everyone spoke over each other asking if I was alright and telling me how great I looked and how glad they were that I was okay. “Come into the office. We brought in breakfast for you.”
I followed them through the main therapy room into the office and stopped short in the doorway. The table was overflowing with bagels and cream cheese, donuts, muffins, orange juice, and coffee. “Oh my God, you guys! Thank you!”