(no subject)
He came back into the bedroom to find Heather quietly sobbing on the couch, and immediately felt guilty. He’d done his best to have a quick shower while she slept, and he’d left the door open so he’d hear her if she had a nightmare. He immediately went to her side and put his arms around her, waiting for her tears to stop.
“Heather, I’m sorry. I should have heard you.”
“It’s okay. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was the wheelchair.” She told him, leaning into his embrace.
“What?” he asked, not seeing the connection.
“It was squeaky.”
“Squeaky?”
She nodded.
“I got the WD-40 out to fix it. I - it was so hard to spray with these stupid casts - I got it everywhere but the chair. And then the smell hit me.”
“Wha - Oh.” Her voice replayed itself in his mind. ‘he smelled like - paint thinner, one time. WD-40, another.’ “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. I just won’t use it again.” Her words made his heart sink. The helplessness caused by her fractured wrists was bad enough, but they would heal, eventually. But Heather loved tinkering. If that bastard had ruined that for Heather - well, he had just given Edward yet another reason to kill him. Slowly.