Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 15

Aurora's POV

They say it's rare to faint when it happens. 

Dizziness, yes. Blacking out, no. 

They say talk to a doctor if you faint.

My eyes open with a fuzz, and the first thing I feel is a weird, moving blob on my cheek. Cold. Wet. The haziness clears, and there he is. The last face I'd seen before pathetically dropping to the floor after seeing Giovanni get shot in the head. Seven fucking times.

The pops rang out in my memory, each bullet a sound engraved in a dark puddle of red. They ran on playback as Mikhail dragged a wet cotton ball across my skin. The quiet, repeated drip of a water tap continued to fill the silence, along with my quiet astonishment. I was sit atop a granite counter, my legs together. One of his hand's lay flat next to me, the other concentrated on getting flecks of blood off my face.

I know he's aware of my state, because I feel the cotton halt over my skin.

"You're awake." 

Then he picks up my limp hand, fingers a searing burn against my wrist, and plops the soft material in my hand.

I swallowed, stunned quiet. The shock turns into a slow, undeferred annoyance when I realize his uncaring attitude is back. For good, I hope, because I didn't wanna have to put myself through whatever that.. feeling was back there.

As if he'd allowed himself to take care of me, when I knew he would never even spawn the thought of doing something so intimate towards anyone. He wasn't the type, nor the person to blur over that known, fiery attitude he uses towards anyone and everyone.

But the confusion still traces a path through me, even when I hop off the counter to look at myself in the mirror. I realize, when my naked feet hit the floor, that my heels are gone. Tucked into a small corner of the bathroom messily, like they'd been forced and thrown off in a hurry. My limbs ache the slightest, while there's a worse feeling between my legs. Not pain, but the remnants of a certain disgusting, repulsive hand's touch. 

It was hard to believe, but definitely not impossible, that Mikhail had been cleaning me up while I was knocked out. Although I would rather he leave it all for me to clean up, a small part of me was grateful. 

It was always me who wiped the cuts off Charlotte after she was done playing catch with half-open cans of Keystone. Me who sat Cassie down on a bench and whispered her sweet-nothings after she'd tripped over her Mini-Cooper. I almost didn't like the feeling of someone doing something so informal, as much as it felt good.

Red stains the blue of my neckline as well as my chest. Mikhail stands leaning against the brown marble, arms crossed and eyes like a hawk on me. 

"Never heard you this silent."

He says, still holding my gaze in the bathroom mirror. 

Not one give-away in those green eyes as to what he was thinking. 

There was always something I wanted to say to him. Powered by inexorable annoyance, aggravation. Right now, all I could come up with was a dusty breath fueled with enough effort to clean myself up and get the fuck out of this place.

Questions built up in the back of my throat.

How did you know where I was?

What will happen once people find out?

Consequences?

Did you come and find me willingly?

No, that last one was stupid. He wasn't the type to scratch off a horror situation like this. Bad person, but not bad enough. I catch his jaw tighten when I swipe the cotton ball over my bloody elbow. It must've gotten hurt when I was thrashing against Giovanni.