VALERIE

Chapter 26.8: Strike Four

 Copyright © zylgnagnaba 2013

HARRY’s POV

Slowly fluttering my eyes open, I grasp Valerie’s side of the bed to reach for her waist but I retract when I touch nothing but an empty sheet and a pillow. She probably has woken up early. I lazily open my eyes shut, blink a couple of times to shake off the heaviness of my lids. I kick myself off of the bed and start pacing around the room until I step on to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

I walk out of the room bare feet without even putting a shirt on—I am only in my plaid boxers—when I hear a heavy gashing of water by the sink in my kitchen, followed by the muffled hiss of “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Valerie?” I yell when I am closer to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” The sound of her voice yells over the rush of the water; calm but I can tell something’s off so I walk even faster until I see her facing down the sink, rubbing her hands together under the flowing water. Her hair is scrappily tied together in a bun, her oversized shirt concealing her cotton shorts exposing her thin thighs. I smile, intending to embrace her from behind.

As I get closer, I am startled by the sight of red fluid splattered around the floor and in the messy counter. There is more blood over the chopping board with the sharp knife on top of it.

“Oh my, Valerie. What happened?” She’s taken aback when I snatch her wet hand away from the sink in no time and examine it myself. She has a deep cut on her forefinger so I do my first instinct to avoid tetanus after I dry it with a paper towel.

The familiar taste of blood explodes in my mouth when I suck her finger and I watch as her eyes flashes in between worry and discomfort. She puckers her nose and her lips press in a firm line while her finger is in between my lips. The crimson hue mixes with the water as I spit on the sink, whirling around until it flows down the drain. I continue sucking the blood out of her cut, and the feeling of worry and anger towards her clumsiness now taking its toll on me again.

Once I take my last spit, I let out a sharp breath and take it in to control myself from getting angry at her again. I tug her along to get the first aid kit from one of the cupboards and she quietly walks behind me as I hold her hand firmly. I draw out the white box with a red cross at the middle of the canister, setting it down at the messy counter.  I recognize beaten eggs in a bowl, unequally chopped jalapenos and tomatoes on a plate, and the blood smothered onion sliced in half on top of the chopping board. I can only assume she was at the middle of slicing the onions when she cut her finger.

“Ugh, Valerie. Can’t you do anything that doesn’t involve you getting hurt?” I ask her as I pull out one cotton ball and dip it to the dry betadine. I grab her hand once again to lather the betadine on her cut and I’m glad that she doesn’t flinch. Betadine doesn’t hurt anyway. She stays silent and just frowns at her finger as I continue cleaning her wound. Her soft eyes stray away from my face and into the floor.

“Can you be any clumsier?!” I snap at her when I finally wrap her finger with a band aid. She looks at me with pained expression, not because of her cut but with my words. I see tears threaten to fall from her eyes and I immediately regret my words. I take a deep breath once again and try to soften my tone as I talk to her, “What were you doing by the way?”

Her eyes widen a bit and a tear finally escapes from her right eye. She looks down on the floor before her eyes elevate to the tattoos on my chest, “I was trying to make breakfast…” She looks me dead in the eyes before letting go of the breath she was holding, “… for you.” She finishes off with a monotonous voice. My heart immediately stops when she withdraws her hand from my grasp and starts walking out of the kitchen. It starts pounding in my chest again upon the recall of her last two words.