Beast(22)

"How are you with blood?" he asks.

I stop. He turns around and sighs.

"He's been hurt."

His words urge me forward again, and we are walking in tandem now. He  leads me to the conservatory. The same bed where Javi first held me  captive is where he now rests, motionless. It isn't until I am close  that I see him.

And I gasp.

"What happened?"

His clothes are shredded. Covered in blood and gravel.

But it's his face.

His face that is no longer hidden beneath the hood. He looks like he's  sleeping. But his face is battered and swollen. He's been beaten.

Repeatedly.

"Motorcycle accident," River tells me.

I turn to him and glare.

"Don't lie to me."

"What does it matter?" River barks. "Can you help him or not?"

I hesitate. Unsure of myself.

"He should be in a hospital."

Now River really does look at me like I'm stupid.

"He can't be in a hospital, Bella. He can't ever go back to a place like that. I had to drug him just to get him back here."

Relief swells inside of me- if only briefly. He's drugged, not knocked out. That is something, I guess.

But the level of his injuries is not something I should be dealing with.  He could have a concussion. He could have broken bones. There could be  internal bleeding. There could be a whole host of things that I can't  fix. But when I look at Javi, I know River is right.

He can't go to a hospital. He won't. Not after his mother. Not after the sanitarium.

"I'll do my best," I whisper.

River nods and gestures to the chair beside the bed. It's stacked with first aid supplies.

"I don't like to watch," he says. "Be careful of him when he wakes up. He won't be pleasant."

"You're leaving?"

"I'll just be in the kitchen."

I nod because I guess it's better this way. I don't need him here,  questioning me. Watching my every move and second guessing me when I'll  be doing enough of that myself.

He moves to go. And then pauses.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Hurt him, and I'll kill you."





I'M NEVER SUPPOSED to see him. He would never allow me to see him.

But right now, he is powerless. And it feels wrong, as I cut away his  clothing, knowing he would not like this. But it also feels right.

I am at war with my own thoughts.

Part of me feels guilty for wanting this. For finally feeding the  monster inside of me who craves this. The one who has wondered for so  long what that dark figure looks like when he doesn't have a shadow to  hide behind. What this killer is hiding beneath the hoods he wears.

My mind has conjured up so many different things. But my imagination never could have prepared me for the reality.

He is massive. Imposing, even in a dead sleep. And he is completely  naked now except for the black jocks stretched across his hips.

His body is a mural of muscle and ink. Muscles that have been well built  and well-utilized stretch over the canvas of his frame. An array of  colorful ink kisses almost every visible inch of his arms and chest. He  is beautiful and utterly terrifying.

I knew this all along. But confronting it in such a visually violent way is a horse of a different color.

I finally have the chance to study his face. The long, jagged scar that  cuts across his forehead and all the way down to his cheek. My fingers  hover over that scar. Wanting to touch. Wanting to heal.

I've always known his scars existed, but the extent of them is shocking.  There are so many. Angry and red. Deep and thick. Some are small and  round, others stretched and jagged. They litter his chest and abdomen,  biceps and even his neck. But the most notable is the scar intersecting  the crest of his dark eyebrow.

It makes him look like a warrior. And he is. Javi has been through so  much. There is no denying it now. He was only a child when he was marked  by these horrors.

My father never spoke of Javi's scars. There was only one time when I  caught him watching the news of the events that unfolded that night. He  said that it was the perfect storm of circumstances.

Those words have haunted me for so long. They have instilled within me  so many questions. Doubts about the things I read in Javi's file. And  perhaps justification for my baffling response to him.                       
       
           



       

My father knew Javi was dangerous, but he trusted him. He never came to harm while in his presence.

The few times my father did speak of Javi, it was with reverence. My dad  was the smartest man I ever knew. And yet, he would say that Javi's  mind was the most incredible thing he'd ever beheld.

At this particular moment, faced with the beast himself, I would have to disagree.

It is his body.

Though scarred and hardened, he is a work of art. One so twisted, Poe  could write infinite sonnets about the darkness he carries around with  him. A beautiful monster.

I can't look away from him. And I have never stared at anyone this way.  He is bloodied and battered, and utterly gory. And still, he is the most  captivating sight I have ever beheld.

I need to get a grip. I need to help him. Fix him. But I don't even know where to begin.

There is gravel lodged deep into the skin of his knees. His elbows.  Fresh cuts litter his body. I take note of them all, categorizing them  into order of severity. I decide to start with his face first. While he  is still asleep.

I know that River is right. When he wakes up, he won't be happy. So, I need to work fast.

The cut on his cheek is the worst by far, and this is the one I start  with. Little by little, I cleanse the blood from his face with a wet  cloth. Seeing him in a different light.

He is still rigid. So rough around the edges. His beard is wild, and so  is his long dark hair, pulled back into an untidy bun. It's an odd  thing. I had no idea his hair was so long.

I wonder when it was last cut. And then I realize, he has nobody to cut  it for him. But when I smooth it away from his face, I also realize it  doesn't need to be cut. Not really.

He's a Neanderthal. But it works for him. For his masculine bone  structure. His oversized frame. Even with all of his hardness, there is  still something soft about him too. At least like this. When he's  asleep. His face is relaxed. At peace.

His lips soft and full, and his nose strong. His skin is softer than I  expected. Naturally olive in complexion. His hair and his beard are  dark. But even those are soft.

I drink in his features while I can. Pausing my work every so often just  to stare at him. To try to make sense of this beast of a man before me.  But he is a puzzle I still haven't figured out.

And there isn't time now.

I feel him beginning to stir. When I go to work on the gravel, drawing  it from his skin, he wakes completely. There isn't time to prepare  myself for his reaction. It is instinctive.

A wounded predator, cornered.

He launches his hand upright and seizes me by the throat. His breathing  is harsh. Labored. And his eyes are vulnerable. So vulnerable. The  wildest eyes I have ever seen.

"Javi."

My hand covers his, but I don't struggle with him. I don't resist. He  needs reassurance right now. And that's what I intend to give him.

"Javi, it's okay. I'm trying to help. You are injured. I'm just trying to help."

His brow furrows when he glances down at his body. His almost naked  body. Shame washes over his features, and his grip on me loosens if only  a little.

"Leave me," he roars.

He is trying to intimidate me. But he can't. Not this time.

"No."

His eyes meet mine. Fiery. Confused.

Frightened.

"I'm going to tend to your wounds, Javi. Whether you like it or not. So please don't fight me."

His hand trembles around my neck, and then slowly his fingers fall away.  He is quiet. Still. And now I am the one shaking as I go back to work,  pulling the gravel from his wounds.

He hisses when I hit a tender spot, and I apologize. I am gentle with  him. As gentle as I can be. But I know it still hurts. He doesn't like  me seeing him this way. He is ashamed. Embarrassed. But he has no reason  to be.

He did not cause these scars on his body.

I want to tell him that he shouldn't care what anyone thinks. But it is  easier to say than to know how he must feel, living with such scars.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks. "Why are you helping me?"

The words are on the tip of my tongue. The words I should say, to  protect myself. I should remain stubborn and indignant. Rebellious to my  situation.

I could tell him that River threatened to kill me. That I had no choice. But those aren't the words that leave my lips.

"I can't just leave you here like this, Javi. Someone needs to take care of you too."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me," he growls.

And now he is the one who is stubborn and indignant.

I smile up at him. But it is not mocking. It is just that I never thought I could relate to him. But at this moment, I can.

"Everybody needs some help sometimes, Javi. Even men like you."

"You mean monsters like me."

I shake my head.

"I don't think you are nearly as monstrous as you make yourself out to be."