Fierce(43)

I stand up and grab an ice pack from my fridge. I also fetch a stool and put it down in front of my chair. “Sit.”

He groans, annoyed, but sits down anyway. He looks pissed, probably not used to having girls tell him what to do. Well, if he wants help, he’d better do as I say.

I press the pack against his black eye and put his hand on top. “So, you want me to fix you up, but you don’t want to tell me why you’re busted up?”

“It’s not going to change anything,” he says, keeping a stone-cold face as if none of this is even remotely bothering him.

“Yeah, well getting into fights isn’t going to change anything, either. I don’t understand why you always have to do what they say.”

I open my drawer and take out a package of bandages, but before I can close it again, Hunter pulls it back open. He puts his hand inside and fishes out the plastic bag with the pill.

His eyes become viciously big, and he makes a fist with his bruised knuckles. “Who gave you this?”

“Does it matter?”

He slams his hand on the table, and I almost spring up from my chair. “It matters if I say it does!”

“And you think that by yelling I will just go ahead and tell you? Just like you told me why you’re dealing drugs and fighting people?”

His nostrils flare and his nose twitches. “Whatever. As long as you do not use it.”

Snorting, I say, “Why do you care? You’re the one who’s handing out drugs to people. It shouldn’t matter to you.”

He grabs my hand as I’m busy with the bandages. “You matter to me.”

Frozen in place, I hesitate. My face heats up, turning my cheeks pink. I can’t even look at him.

“W-well,” I stammer, “I don’t think you’re the one to tell me what to do and what not to do.” Seeing the drugs in his hand and his bruised face makes images of the day in the cafeteria flash through my mind. He looked so drugged up back then.

Now I know why.

“You take them yourself. That day you showed up in the cafeteria you looked like you were beaten up quite badly, and you had red eyes. Don’t deny it. You’ve done it yourself.”

The bag with the pill is crushed in his hand. “And you think I wanted to do that?” he hisses.

“You tell me,” I mutter.

“I hate it. I hate the fucking stuff so much, you can’t even begin to imagine. But I had to. There was no other way to …”

“To what? You had to use drugs to do what?”

“To forget. To feel a little better. And because they told me to,” he says, sighing.

I knew it. He’s really under their thumb.

I swallow, wrapping the bandage carefully around the slashes on his knuckles. He doesn’t look as broken as last time, but it still isn’t a pretty sight. I wonder what he’d do if I wasn’t here. Would he go to the hospital? Or would he just leave his wounds and let them get infected?

However, now that I’ve seen the extent of his problems, I totally get why he wouldn’t want to go to the hospital. If you’re there, and you’ve been in a fight, the cops are immediately involved. With his history I don’t blame him for not wanting to have anything to do with law enforcement. They robbed him of his brother.

“Tell me you won’t use that stuff … please.” His voice is croaky, and it sounds like he’s begging me. “Not ever,” he adds.

I snatch the pill from his hand and throw it in the garbage bin next to my door. He visibly relaxes, seeing it disappear.

“I won’t. But why do you?” I say, and I fasten the bandage around his hand with a clip.

“Because I have to.”

“Why can’t you just tell me why?” I say. “Are you afraid I’m going to spill your secrets or something? Don’t you trust me?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt, all right?” he bursts out.

I’m dumbfounded by his sudden explosiveness, but also because I’m flustered. I don’t really know what to say to it, because it feels so unreal. I don’t even have the guts to look him in the eye. My heart is pounding in my throat.

His free hand reaches for my face, and I freeze. My nipples tighten when his fingers touch my skin, and my nerve endings are on fire. I burn on the inside, wanting more of his touch. His thumb skids across my cheek, gently caressing my soft skin with the rough pad of his thumb.

My breath hitches in my throat.

I can’t believe it. He’s really touching me.

It feels so good, I just want to nudge my head into the palm of his hand and let him touch me everywhere. It sets my heart on fire.

When he stops, I shudder.