I grabbed the banister and slowly lowered myself onto the top step. I was still stunned, unable to form a cohesive thought. I kept seeing the man's face explode, and feeling the spray of blood across my cheeks. But what truly disturbed me was the image of Jonathan, so cold and rigid with fury. I smudged the drying blood off my cheek with the back of my hand.
Jonathan sat down beside me and blotted my face with a wet towel. I stared at him blankly. His face was clean and smooth. He appeared calm and alert, although he kept examining me uneasily, like he was afraid I might fall apart.
I pulled back with a quick breath at the touch of the cloth to my mouth. "We'll put some ice on that when we get back." His brown eyes connected with mine and he spoke to me softly, "Just sit here and look straight ahead, okay?"
I nodded. This didn't feel real. I started to wonder if I was dreaming. I couldn't move. This had to be a dream. But then the pain seeped through my ribs, and the side of my face throbbed. The taste of blood ran over my tongue.
I heard Jonathan shift the unconscious body, then the jangling of keys. I kept my eyes closed as Jonathan brushed past me down the stairs. My entire midsection screamed with every breath. I let the agony writhe through me, desperately needing it to keep me grounded.
"Emma," Jonathan called to me, redirecting my tortured reality. I opened my eyes to find him next to me. "I need you to get in your car. You're going to follow me, okay?"
I searched his assuring face, slowly becoming more alert. "Where are we going?"
"Don't worry about anything. You just need to follow me." His dark eyes beseeched me to trust him, and I nodded.
I pulled myself up and let out a pained breath.
"Are you okay?" he questioned in alarm, putting his hand on my arm to support me. "How bad are you hurt?"
"I'll be alright," I grunted breathily, moving away from him down the stairs. I didn't want him to touch me. The unrelenting rage that had overtaken him still haunted me.
My car wasn't in the driveway. In its place were Jonathan's truck and a dark blue Charger. I looked around in confusion, before locating my car on the street, closer to the neighbor's house on the corner. I slowly made my way to it, panting in pain with each step.
I sat with the engine running and waited, staring straight ahead. Eventually, the Charger pulled in front of me.
I drove behind him entranced, focusing on the license plate with my right arm folded across my ribs, squeezing the diamond into my palm. We pulled into the parking lot of the bar outside of town where we'd picked up Rachel. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were still a few cars in the deserted dirt parking lot.
I watched Jonathan wipe down the handle of the car door before walking over and getting in the passenger side.
"Drive," he ordered. I pulled away and merged back onto the main road.
When the bar disappeared from sight, he offered, "Do you want me to drive?"
I shook my head, needing to concentrate on something other than what we'd just done. We drove in silence until I pulled into the driveway. I shut off the engine and didn't make a move to get out.
"Jonathan, is he dead?" I asked in a whisper, turning my head to look at him.
"No," he assured me. "He needs to go to the hospital, but he's not dead. Someone will find him."
"Will he come after us?"
"No. You don't have to worry about him ever again. I promise." His eyes shone with conviction, and I knew he was confident in his words. I wasn't.
I got out of the car and Jonathan followed me to the house. He reached for the screen door to pull it open for me, and I stopped at the sight of his raw bloody knuckles. "Your hand," I gasped.
"Don't worry about it," he replied dismissively. "We need to get some ice on your face to help the swelling."
I shook my head. "You need to wrap that. I think we have something in the bathroom."
I climbed the stairs with Jonathan behind me and continued to the bathroom without pause, past the blood that still covered the floor. While Jonathan rinsed his hands, I rummaged through the closet and pulled out ointment and gauze bandages.
He blotted his knuckles dry. I gently balanced his hand on my closed fist to inspect the scraped skin that shined with blood. I was about to squeeze the ointment on his knuckles when he pulled it away. "I'll be fine."
"Jonathan," I implored, looking up at him. My words were lost when I realized how close we were.
His dark eyes pulled me in. I couldn't move. He raised his hand, gliding his fingertips across my bruised face. I inhaled with a shiver at his touch. He slowly leaned forward. I held my breath, lost in his penetrating gaze. I closed my eyes just before his lips gently brushed against mine.