Stoupající

12

I cringe in pain when I get out of the shower the next morning. The skin around my stitches pulls tight with every move I make.

I wrap a towel around myself and tie it in a knot above my left breast before grabbing my crutches and walking out of the bathroom and into my kitchen-slash-living room, heading straight for the fridge.

"Morning, Stiff."

I yelp and whirl around, wincing when I feel the pull at my stitches.

There, on my couch, feet on top of my coffee table, sits Eric.

What the actual fuck?

"What the hell, Eric?!" I yell at him incredulously. "You can't just use my key and come in here whenever you like. I could have been naked!"

His eyes travel down my body and then back up to meet my gaze.

He smirks. "But you're not, unfortunately."

I roll my eyes at him.

"What are you doing here anyway?" I ask, while subtly making sure that the knot in my towel still holds.

"Picking you up for breakfast," he answers. "So you better get dressed."

"I don't feel like eating in public," I answer truthfully.

"The faction needs to see you," Eric replies. "They need to see that their leader is alright."

I sigh. Maybe he is right.

"Fine," I say then. Without another word I turn around and make my way back to my bedroom before hastily putting on some clothes.

When I hobble back into the living room Eric gets up from the couch.

"I just have to put on a new Band-Aid," I say, reaching for one of the multitude of Band-Aids lying atop of my table.

"You want me to help?" he asks softly and I feel a flutter in my stomach. I do. I want to feel his hands on me again.

I clear my throat before answering. "Yeah."

He grabs the hem of my top, then pauses and looks at me questioningly. I nod, my heart drumming ever faster against my ribcage.

Slowly, he pushes my top up until it only hides my bra.

His jaw clenches as he stares at the seven inch long line of stitches and the angry red skin around it. He places his left hand on my hip and then lets his thumb ghost across the skin surrounding the wound.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He murmurs.

"I just couldn't let you die," I answer, my voice breaking. "I was so scared I'd lose you."

Anger flashes behind his eyes. He withdraws his hand and balls it into a fist.

"So instead you forced me to watch you die?" He replies angrily. "You bled out in my arms. I was there when you went into cardiac arrest. I was thrown out of the room, not knowing whether you were dead or alive for about ten minutes. It felt like years until Will came to tell me that they had managed to revive you."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't think."

"Now that's new," he says sarcastically, taking the Band-Aid from my hand and ripping open the wrapper.

"What about Sean?" I ask, switching the topic.

"Son of a bitch got away," he answers, even angrier now. "But I promise you, we're gonna find him and then I'm gonna kill him with my bare hands and it's gonna be more painful than anything he has ever experienced."