Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“She got tangled in her leash, lost her balance, and fell into the window.” Daddy carries me through to the kitchen and sets me on the table.
I’m surprised he knows that much about what happened. He must have been watching me the entire time. I thought he was too engrossed in his call to have noticed.
“Can you lower the cloth?” Yamal asks.
Daddy slowly eases it from my face.
Yamal steps in front of him, cups my chin, and tips my head back. “Looks like the bleeding has stopped.” He glances at Daddy. “Why don’t you wash your hands and bring a wet cloth to wash hers, too.”
Daddy hesitates before hurrying the few feet to the sink.
Yamal grips the back of my neck. “Keep your head tipped forward now for me, Little pet,” he commands. It’s rare for him to speak to me so directly. “I’m going to feel your nose to make sure it’s not broken. It might hurt. Can you be brave for me?”
I’m surprised by his gentle, kind words. “Yes, Sir.”
He smiles. At me. He actually smiles while looking me in the eyes. “Good girl.” He tucks a finger under my collar as if to ensure I can’t move an inch while he reaches for my nose.
When he grips it, I let out a shuddering breath. It doesn’t hurt as badly as I expected. It’s sore, but I don’t think it’s broken.
Daddy is back. I look at him out of the corner of my eye, without moving my head and upsetting Yamal. He’s still frowning. He has the washcloth and is passing it back and forth between his hands absently.
“It’s not broken,” Yamal says.
“Are you sure? There was so much blood,” Daddy responds.
Yamal lowers his hand and lets me bring my head back to center. “When a nose is hit just right, it can bleed a lot. The cartilage feels fine. Wrap some ice in a washcloth and hold it against the bridge for about fifteen minutes. That will stop it from bleeding again and reduce the swelling and discomfort.”
Daddy takes my hand and wipes it mostly clean before doing the other. He rinses out the washcloth and comes back to gently clean my face. “Will it be okay to give her a bath in a while?”
“It will be fine.” Yamal pats Daddy on the shoulder. “Venkorians get nosebleeds, too. Haven’t you ever had one? The cartilage feels identical in her face to ours.”
“Yeah, I probably did years ago. I don’t remember.”
“She’ll be fine. Call me if it starts bleeding uncontrollably again, if her face swells, or if she complains of a headache.”
“What do those things indicate?” Daddy asks, his brow furrowing even deeper.
I wrap my fingers around one of his. “Daddy, I promise it’s okay. I bet I’ve had a nosebleed more recently than you since it’s been like a hundred years since you were a kid,” I tease. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually had a nosebleed. I don’t remember it, but I want him to stop panicking. It’s endearing, but it’s unnecessary, and I’m worried this is going to mean I’ll have even fewer privileges going forward.
Yamal’s eyes widen. “Huh, she is pretty sharp. Did she just make a joke? I knew she was intelligent the first day I met her, but I haven’t heard her say much since then. I kind of forgot what all she said that morning.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes at him.
Daddy shoots me a pointed look. He wants me to stop talking. I purse my lips. He nods his approval. “She’s smart.” That’s all he shares. He wipes my face one more time, mouthing, “Good girl.”
He lifts me off the counter and holds me against his chest as he walks Yamal to the door. “Thank you so much for coming so fast.”
“Anytime.” Yamal smiles at me again, his head tipped to one side. “She seems pretty special. I guess I should get my name on the list. There’s a growing waiting list for a human.”
“Huh. That’s interesting,” Daddy says, noncommittally.
“See you soon.” Yamal gives a wave.
Daddy closes the door, locks it in several places, and sets the alarm before rushing across the room. Seconds later, he has ice wrapped in a cloth, and he settles us in the armchair. He tips me slightly forward and gently places the ice on the bridge of my nose.
I stroke his forearm with my hand. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I repeat. I fear I’ve messed things up. It’s making my tummy hurt.
He kisses my forehead. “No need to be sorry, Little pet. I should have been more diligent.”
I wince, and tears start to fall down my cheeks. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t stop them. My nose runs, which is probably a mess of snot and blood.
Daddy lowers the ice so that the front of the cloth is against my nostrils. “Why are you crying, Little pet?”