Page 4 of The Hand Surgeon's Housewife
***
Hugo
I work in silence. Pamela’s hand is laid out in front of me like a delicate puzzle of broken bones and bruised flesh. My fingers move with precision, my mind focused on the task, but a nagging thought keeps asking for attention.
I’ve noticed something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. This doesn’t look like an accident to me. It looks deliberate. Familiar signs of blunt force trauma, the kind I've seen too many times in victims of domestic violence. My jaw tightens, and I risk a glance at Pamela.
Her bee-stung lips are slightly parted, her round cheekbones flushed under the harsh lights. It’s hard to reconcile the image of someone harming her someone with so much innocent beauty. The thought of someone intentionally hurting her spikes a sudden, intense rage that surges through my veins. I’m not used to the loss of control, but the idea of her suffering at someone else’s hands makes my blood boil.
Fuck, I’m going to kill whoever did this. Break their bones in a way that no surgeon on the planet can fix them.
I force myself to calm down, drawing in a slow, measured breath. Control is my forte; it’s what allows me to do my job well. I can’t afford to lose it now. I finish setting the last bone and glance at the nurse.
"Leave us," I say, my voice firm.
The nurse looks puzzled but does as she's told, exiting the room without a word. I need a moment alone with Pamela. Her face is turned slightly, her eyes hooded, and she’s not focusing on anything I’m doing. Good. She won't see what I’m about to do, what I probably shouldn’t but I’m doing it anyway. Morality has never been my strong side.
I take a deep breath, the sterile scent of the hospital filling my lungs, and let my fingers brush lightly against her skin, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort. But my mind is already drifting to darker thoughts. Someone has hurt her, and that someone could do it again. Which is something I can’t allow.
3.
Pamela
When the surgery’s finally over, Hugo finishes bandaging me up. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his previously clear eyes darkened with something stormy. The silence between us is heavy, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for him to say something.
Hugo straightens up, hands me a small jar of painkillers then crosses his arms over his chest. ”Take two twice a day, morning and evening. And you can remove the bandage within 24 hours, just remember to keep the stitches dry.”
I nod obediently, but Hugo’s demeanor stops me from fully relaxing.
“Now,” Hugo’s voice is low but insistent. His eyes bore into mine, searching for answers and I go numb. ”Are you going to tell me what happened to your hand?”
I hesitate, my mind racing for a plausible lie. What was I supposed to say again? “It was my fault… I tripped and fell. I’m clumsy like that,” I manage, but I can tell by the furrow in Hugo’s brow that he doesn’t believe me.
”You look far from the clumsy kind. I’ve never seen a chit as poised as you.” A muscle ticks in his jaw, and his voice hardens slightly. “Did your brother hurt you?”
The question hits me like a physical blow. My heart races, panic rising in my chest. “No!” I blurt out, almost too quickly. “No, of course not. And he’s my step-brother. Raymond would never do something like that.”
My words don’t matter. I can see the doubt in Hugo’s eyes. He knows something isn’t right, and I’m terrified he’ll probe further. If he accuses Raymond of hurting me, Raymond will think I snitched. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
“Please,” I plead, my voice shaking. “I’m telling the truth. I promise.”
Hugo studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
***
Hugo
Pamela’s eyes dart nervously around the surgery room. She’s a bad liar. I know what happened to her hand wasn’t an accident, despite her little attempt to convince me otherwise.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” I say quietly, my voice low and reassuring. “I can help you. I know how to handle situations like these, to make sure you don’t get hurt again.”
Pamela’s facade cracks for a moment, fear flickering in her eyes before she quickly masks it with confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insists.
I have a feeling it would be a bad idea to inform her, that I can call the cops. Put the guy in prison. But I think it would only upset her more. The guy has to have connection in the underworld or he wouldn’t have come to this hospital. Which means, she probably thinks he’ll be able to get to her even behind bars.
I lower my tone. “You can come with me if you want,” I offer quietly. “I’ll protect you from him.”
But instead of relief, horror flashes across Pamela’s face. She jerks away from me, her hands shaking as she backs towards the door. “No, I… I should leave,” she stammers, her voice rising.