A Howling in the Hills (Prev. Adjusting) (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 3 - Injuries

On the side is Adrian.

After eating our sandwiches in silence, Alex quickly washed up the dishes (ignoring my efforts to stop him and clean up after myself) and took my hand to lead me around the house. Unfortunately, I didn't take in what he was saying at first since I was focused on ignoring the tingles running up and down my arm. I wanted to fight his touch, my memories wanted to fight his touch. People couldn't be trusted.

A silent moment passes and I'm snapped out of my reverie by deep chuckling. My head shoots up and I glare at Alex.

"What?" I huff at him.

"We've been standing here for the past two minutes in silence," he said in between chuckles. I blushed and looked at my surroundings. We were in a large, fancy bathroom. Where the kitchen was incredibly dark, this room was incredibly light. Pale yellow walls and matching towels made up the only color in the otherwise white room.

"Why are we in here?" I asked as I sat down on the edge of the regal claw footed bathtub that could probably fit three people.

"Haven't you taken a look at yourself yet?" Alex said, answering my question with a question and only fueling my irritation. I opened my mouth to give him a sarcastic retort when he suddenly picked me up and set me down in front of the large mirror. He moved me too quickly for me to be able to process him touching me. My statement died as soon as I looked at myself in the glass.

It may be true that werewolves heal faster than humans, but only by a small amount. A bruise that a human may have for three days would only stay on a wolf for one. We don't heal cuts instantly and we don't have superpowers.

Because of this, it made sense that I looked like utter shit.

My face was blotchy and swollen in areas. My once small nose seemed to be crooked; it was most likely broken. My small lips were cracked and puffy, my once round cheeks were concave, and my black eyes covered their electric blue color. Also, I was caked in dried blood. Disgusting. My hair was no longer its original white-blond color, but had turned brown from all the dirt and blood that had gotten into it.

I turned my face away from the mirror and shakily pulled up the sleeves of my long sleeve shirt. Dark purple, green, and blue bruises covered my arms. Long scratches marred the formerly pale skin. Dried blood matted the small amount of wispy blond hair I had on my arms.

I was in complete shock. "Oh," I said softly. I sat down on the closed toilet and shut my eyes, though it pained me to do so.

"We're in here so I can clean you up," he said.

No. I didn't want him touching me. No one could touch me. Everyone who touched me ended up hurting me.

I opened my eyes and watched Alex as he banged around the bathroom. He brought out cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, and clean towels and set them on the gleaming counter. He then put the stopper in the sink and filled it up with warm water. He wet one of the towels and turned to me before gently wiping the dried blood off my face. I flinched at the touch of the towel, but since it wasn't skin to skin contact, I was able to keep still.

A minute or so passed with us in complete silence. I had no idea what I would say and Alex seemed to be heavily focused on cleansing my wounds.

He finally wiped off the last of the dried blood on my face and neck and set the red-stained towel down on the counter beside him. I gasped when he suddenly reached down, grasped the bottom of my shirt, and yanked it up and over my head.

I quickly attempted to cover myself with my hands and arms, not wanting Alex to see all my imperfections. Over the years of pain and running, I had acquired numerous scars from many different types of wounds. Name the scar type, and I most likely had it on either my chest or my back. Fire, knives, claws, teeth, whips; the list of weapons used on my body seemed endless.