midnight rain [f. colapinto]

f o r t y - s e v e n

Evita sat on the edge of her bed and cried for what felt like hours, but it probably wasn't. Her hand had stopped bleeding profusely, but it ached.

She wasn't sure how to feel. Yes, she was angry at Franco for always bringing up their past, knowing it hurt her. She was also upset with the team for forcing them to live together. She was also mad at herself for being such a bitch all the time. She was finally starting to accept that she was too harsh with Franco, but she was too stubborn to calm down and meet him at his level.

A knock sounded at the door. "Evita? It's me." It was Franco, his voice muffled by the wall between them.

"Go away," she replied.

Franco pushed the door open anyway. Evita avoided eye contact, choosing to stare at the floor instead.

"I came to check on you," he said, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

Evita remained silent, her eyes still fixed on the floorboards. Franco sighed, but Evita couldn't figure out the reason. He left the room for a moment, returning with the first aid kit Evita kept in one of her kitchen cabinets.

"Can I?" he asked softly, kneeling in front of her.

Evita finally looked up. There was something so apologetic in his gaze, Evita almost felt bad. But she couldn't forgive him yet. But she could at least give in and let him help her. Just this once. "Do what you need to do," she murmured.

Franco knelt in front of her and carefully removed the tissue Evita had used to staunch the bleeding. "This might sting," he said before softly pressing an alcohol pad to the cut.

Evita didn't respond.

"I didn't mean to upset you earlier," he said quietly. "It wasn't my intention. You know that, right?"

Franco finished cleaning the wound and began to apply a soft bandage to it. He was impossibly gentle with her, causing a lump to rise in Evita's throat and fresh tears to spring in her eyes. She had never felt this conflicted in her life.

"Evita," said Franco. "We can't keep doing this. I hate that we're like this."

Evita also hated it, but she didn't know how to stop. It was easier to let every single thing he did annoy her than to let him back into her heart. She hated to admit that she'd been ignoring him for the last week because she'd rather absorb herself in her studies than confront whatever was happening between her and Franco. Pushing him away was so simple, accepting their unfinished business was not.

"You should go," Evita finally whispered.

If he didn't give her space now, she worried she would scream at him again. Or worse, never want him to leave her sight.

"Okay," said Franco. There was a hurt in his voice that almost made Evita feel bad. "Just know, I'm here if you need me."

He gently patted Evita's shoulder and left her alone to wallow in her own emotions, which she was quite happy to continue doing.