Wrecked

The 37

"Why are you helping me?" I broke the silence that hung in the air between us. His fingers paused on my skin briefly, he took a sharp inhale when his warm fingers burned my ice-cold hope bone. He'd finished cleaning the wound, taking out the stitches that had been upset and was now preparing the alcohol on the cloth. He'd been silently working, not responding when I told him how to do it; he was concentrated- beyond the point of noticing the hair that had fallen over his eyes. Pushing away to urge to push it back I sat up slightly.

This brought us closer together- our position uncomfortable at best. He was still sat between my legs, leant over me and I leant back slightly in order for my stomach to not be folded over. My breath caught each time his fingers brushed the skin that wasn't being treated, each time they did his eyes would rush up to met mine- ensuring I was okay. He assumed the effect he was having on me was pain, but it was the opposite- it was trust, denial and surprise.

"Even the saviours need saving sometimes, right?" He mumbled as he began to dab the cloth over my wounds. This hurt more than the last time due to how far in the knife had made it. Some how it had missed everything important and the bleeding was minimal. Why was I the one that got lucky? I didn't deserve it.

I ground my teeth together as he continued to clean it, my toes curling in response to the sharp shooting pains that I couldn't ignore. My whole body had tensed up and I couldn't hide that from Jesse, his spare hand that was already next to mine reached for it and grabbed onto mine. At first my heart stopped, distracted by the odd gesture from the boy but the way he'd position his hand mad sense. We wanted me to dig my fingers into his hand, rather than into the sheets of the bed.

So I did just that, I dug my nails are hard as I possibly could into Jesse's palm biting down on my tongue as he finished with the alcohol. I didn't hold back, allowing my anger and frustration for the boy flow out in the form of pressure. As soon as the cloth was set aside his hand pulled out from underneath it. He didn't comment on the four crescent shaped dents that had blood forming from them he just continued to work.

I'd already explained to him how the stitches should work and he'd insisted that he could handle it- claiming to have watched someone do it before. I didn't have any other options so I sat back as he prepared the sewing kit.

"You know, you seem to make a habit out of following me places." I teased, although the silence had been comfortable- him not bitting my head of or snapping at me was even more uncomfortable. "Should I be worried about having a stalker."

"What happened out there." He breathed it out like he'd been dying to ask since he found me, yet her somehow made it sound like he didn't really care- like it was no big deal.

"It's no big deal- really. A misunderstanding, that's all." My fingers going to fidget with the hems of my singlet, which was up just below my bra now.

"I've never had a misunderstanding that ending with two people being stabbed." He chuckled slightly, his chest barely raising- but it was a laugh. A rare and glorious sound that I could listen to forever, "You don't have to talk about it- I just need to know if he needs his arse whooped." This caring side of Jesse was foreign; I was left unsure of how to exactly respond- confused beyond reason by attention was caught by the hanging hair again.