Free Don't Make Me Beautiful by Elle Casey Page B

clean.   And with the injuries to her face, I’d expect him to have more injuries on his knuckles.”
    “Seriously? You guys think I did that to her?   You’re nuts.”   Brian pulls his hands away and sits back.   “I have a son.   I’m a father to a six-year-old boy I’ve never even spanked.   I would no sooner hit a woman than I’d hit … the Pope.”
    Betty-Lou’s eyes widen.   “Are you catholic?”
    “Yes. I was raised to be, anyway.   Not that I’m the best catholic out there, but I still wouldn’t hit the Pope.”
    She purses her lips before responding, looking like she’s just bitten into a slice of lemon.   “Good to know.   I guess.”
    “Why did you call me in here?   To accuse me of hurting her?   Because if that’s the case, you’re wasting your time.”   Brian stands, but he’s halted by the doctor waving his hands in a calming gesture.
    “Sit, sit … no one’s accusing you of anything.   The police were already out at the house and they say the place is owned by a guy named John Arnold.   That’s not you, I assume?”
    “No. I already told all the nurses and the guys in the ambulance.   I’m Brian Jensen.”   He reaches behind him and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, putting it down on the table open so they can see his driver’s license inside the plastic sleeve.   “See?   Brian Jensen.”
    “And our patient is your … sister?” asks Doctor Bruce.
    Brian looks from the social worker to the doctor, weighing his options.
    “Because if you’re not her brother, we can’t share information with you,” says the woman.
    “And we’d have to ask you to leave her room as well,” says the doctor.
    They’re staring at him intently.   Everyone seems to be holding their breath.
    Brian lets out a long sigh.   “Then I guess it’s a good thing I am her brother, huh?”
    Both the doctor and the social worker smile.
    “Good. That’s good news,” says Betty-Lou.   “Because she’s going to need someone to stand by her.   Things are about to get ugly.”
    “Looks to me like they already are,” Brian says, his heart squeezing a little at the memory of her face.   He sits down, ready to listen again, now that he knows they’re not accusing him of being the Devil incarnate.
    “Let’s discuss her injuries,” says Doctor Bruce, flipping open a folder in front of him. He scratches his head absently as his eyes scan the page.   “She has multiple contusions on her face, neck, back and hands.   Bruising on … well, almost every square inch of her body.”   He shakes his head, marking something on the page with a pen he takes from the table.   “We haven’t done a full body CT scan, but I’m willing to bet from what I’ve already seen that she has a history of broken bones from ankle to neck.   We won’t be doing any more tests until she’s awake, but for now, let’s just say that she’s in really, really bad shape.”
    “Is she … is she going to live?” Brian asks, his voice barely coming out.
    “Yes.   She had some swelling of her brain, but we’ve gotten that under control.   But we need to keep a close eye on her until she’s out of the woods, so that’s why she’s here in ICU.   I think if all goes well, we’ll be able to move her downstairs in a couple days.”
    “What about her face?” Brian asks.   He knows his ex-wife would worry about that most of all.   Women tie up so much of their self-worth into their looks. He’s hoping Briana, or whoever she is, is the exception to this rule; otherwise, she won’t want to live when she wakes up and looks in the mirror.
    “The swelling around her eyes should go down in a couple days and the bruising will fade out after a couple weeks.   But her nose, her jaw, her orbital bones … those aren’t going to change.   Those are permanent.”
    Brian swallows with difficulty.   “Permanent?   What do you mean by permanent?”
    The doctor looks at the social worker as she