Out of Nowhere(28)

I change quickly at my house, eager to run away yesterday and last night. I’m practically vibrating with the need to move.

“You don’t have to hold back today,” Rafe says. “I know you were taking it easy last time.” I nod. “If you pull ahead, just circle back for me.”

Right from the start, I’m pushing hard. Each pump of my arm sets my hand throbbing, but within minutes it’s coalesced into a constant ache I push to the edges of my attention, alongside the throb in my head and the lingering roiling in my stomach. All I care about is that as I move, my breathing thing disappears and I feel like I can outrun my own body, slough it off like a rusty coat of paint. Rafe’s keeping up with me, his long stride helping him, but I can tell he’s not going to be able to maintain this pace for more than another mile or two.

After a while, I loop us around Wilson Park, the faded grass mostly worn to dirt from baseball and rain and neglect, and turn us so that Rafe has a straight shot back to my house.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I gotta slow down a little.”

“Just go that way and I’ll meet you back at my place. I’m gonna loop around.” The desire to just reach out and throw myself on Rafe wells up suddenly, so big it’s almost irresistible. To fight, to fuck—I don’t know, but I know I need to run, run away from it.

Rafe nods and I leave him behind in minutes. He’s a good runner. But no one can touch me when I feel like this. When I need to get away.

About a mile from home, I can tell I’ve pushed too hard. My stomach is in my throat and there’s a metallic taste in my mouth. My ears ache and my thighs and calves are burning so much I don’t even notice my hand anymore.

Rafe’s been sitting on the porch long enough to catch his breath when I stagger to a stop in front of my house. I have just enough time to catch the edge of a smile when he sees me before I bend over and retch onto the ground. There isn’t much to come up—just a little coffee and the remnants of the peanut butter sandwich I ate last night—but it burns through me and feels like my whole stomach is coming out my throat.

Rafe’s hand on my back is cool against my flushed skin. He’s holding me up by my shoulders, steering me toward the porch.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “What the hell, Colin?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, pushing his hand away from my face. “Just happens sometimes if I go really hard.”

Rafe’s messing with my bandage, which I forgot to change before we left. It’s pretty gross: all dirty and, now, sweaty. He pulls me to my feet by my biceps. It takes him no effort at all, even though I’m practically dead weight.

Inside, I find myself at the kitchen table, a little spaced out, water next to me and my hand on the table. Rafe unwraps the bandage and jerks his eyes up to my face.

“You are an absolute fucking mess, do you know that?” he says, and he sounds pissed.

“Thought you liked lost causes?” I say, but it comes out with none of the levity I intended.

Rafe opens his mouth and closes it again. “I have a proposal,” he finally says, voice very calm.

“Is it indecent?”

Not even a smile.

“I propose that you take a shower while I go out and get some food. I think your hand needs stitches—no, hold on,” he says when I start to argue. “If you don’t want to go to the hospital”—I shake my head definitively—“I can do them. If you’re comfortable with that.”

Now it’s my turn to gape. Um. Who the fuck would be comfortable with a random stranger sticking a needle into their flesh?

“Uh, are you… a paramedic or something?”

He shakes his head.

“But you know how to do stitches.”

He nods. Well, shit, I guess it can’t really be worse than it is now….

I shrug my assent and Rafe nods. I stand to go to the shower and immediately start to sway. Rafe catches me with one hand on my back and the other around my shoulder. My head is swimming, and I want to just collapse. And somehow, I know Rafe would catch me. I’ve never felt like that about anyone. I mean, maybe Pop when I was a really little kid… but, no, he would’ve just told me to shake it off….

I shiver at how close Rafe is, and he gives me a little squeeze. I press my forehead against his shoulder before I’m even aware I’ve done it and pull away as soon as I notice. But when Rafe runs a hand up my back I have a much worse problem.

I try and shift my hips away from Rafe so he won’t feel it, but he pulls me back toward him and tips my face up. His eyes are burning. For a second, it’s like everything is suspended—Rafe’s arms around me, his warmth, his smell, that damned hair I keep wanting to touch. I feel like he could do anything to me. I want him to. Want to just float away from myself and let him do what he wants—no responsibility, no repercussions, no blame.