Dancing With Keenan

Chapter Five - Assumptions

A yawn escaped me as I carefully ran a damp cloth over the strings of my violin. We had rehearsed for hours, and a quick check of my cell told me it was pushing seven-o'clock. I was worn out, to be honest.

"So, what's up with the rag?" Mariah questioned, coming to stand beside me.

"Getting the oils, skin cells, and blood off the strings."

"Blood?" She squeaked.

I chuckled and held out my left hand. She examined the swollen and slightly bloody skin of my fingers in shock.

"I haven't played this much in a while, so the callouses wore down, but a few weeks, maybe a month, and they'll be back."

A mixture of shock and bewilderment had painted itself across her face. "Is it worth it?" She asked.

"Absolutely," Keenan cut in from behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her to side. "Let me see, Lilah."

"It's fine," I muttered, removing the shoulder pad from my violin and setting it in its slot.

Warm, calloused fingers wrapped my wrist, tugging my hand toward him. Shockwaves marched up my arm and through my body from his touch. I wanted to jerk my hand away, I swear I did, but I just couldn't force myself to do so.

"Oh-Kay," Mariah mumbled. "I'm gonna leave now; see you guys later."

"Goodbye, Mariah," Keenan growled, prodding gently at the indented and bloody skin of my finger. "C'mon." He jerked his chin in the direction of the stairs. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm fine, Keenan."

Instead of releasing my wrist, he simply took my violin from my other hand and rested it in the case. He zipped the case and pulled it over his shoulder before pulling me toward the stairs. He led me through the kitchen and up the familiar, carpeted stairs. Upstairs was also the same as it had been two years ago, with brown carpet and dark rose-colored wallpaper.

The master bedroom was still at the end of the hall, with the same four-poster bed and antique dresser and chest of drawers. I forced down the lump in my throat as Keenan pulled me into the same master bathroom we used to share.

"You don't have to do this," I said as he lifted me onto the counter and ran a washcloth under warm water.

He didn't respond. Keenan pressed the rag to each of my fingers in turn, the once-white cloth turning a coppery-brown from the blood.

"You overdid it, Lilah," he finally said, shutting off the water and pressing a fluffy towel against my fingers.

I shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the mirror. Keenan pulled a first-aid kit from under the sink and fished through it until he found a tube of antibiotic ointment.

"How long's it been since you played?"

"A while," I answered vaguely, glad that he was more focussed on smearing ointment onto my fingers to look at my face.

"Lilah," he prodded, looking up at me.

I avoided meeting his eyes. "Just drop it."

"No."

I tried to pull my hand away from him, but he tightened his grip and stepped closer to me. I could feel his body heat seeping through my skin. Anger smoldered in his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw tightened and relaxed repeatedly.

"When have you ever known me to drop anything, Lilah?"

"Two years ago when you dropped me," I snapped, leaning away from him.