The Bad Boy Calls Me Kitten

Chapter Eighteen

 Dedication goes to anomynousreaderx for the beautiful cover on the side! <3

"Stop it, Scar. You're not funny. Don't you think you should go to the hospital? I can call a taxi." I said. He hissed angrily and grabbed my wrist when I touched the vodka-infused tissue to his cheek and gave me a venomous glare.

"I'm sorry, I have to! It's gonna get infected." I said. Scar murmured something under his breath, most likely a string of curse words, but released my hand. As gently as I could, I rubbed the tissue over his bruised skin. Then I remembered everything he had done and put me through, so I may have rubbed a little harder than necessary. 

"Fuck!"

"Alright, I'm sorry." I smirked. "I won't do it again, I promise." 

But of course, revenge is best served on raw bruises. In my defense, he totally deserved it. Just sayin'.

"Genevieve!" he growled. He seemed to have regained his energy. Scar stood up, glowering. "It's not fucking funny. If you're not gonna do it right, then leave me alone! I can do it myself."

"Okay, I swear." It was hard to force back a smile. He looked so cute when he was mad. I held up my hands in surrender, but crossed my legs. "I won't do it again."

Scar eyed me dangerously but sat down. His navy blue sweater had turned a strange shade of color from the blood, but it seemed to have stopped. Scar held one hand pressed against it. The red liquid was drying on his face. I wouldn't be able to clean up all the blood with the tissues.

I tried to successfully appear careless. I wanted to have at least the smallest shred if dignity left; Scar couldn't know how I was feeling or else I was screwed. I was sitting dangerously close in order to reach his skin, so close that I could see how his long eyelashes brushed his cheek every time he averted his eyes. Scar was beautiful in a broken kind of way.

Very carefully, I ran the wet part of the material under his eye. It licked up most of the blood. I threw that one away and got a new one. Scar stayed still for the most part. He was so tranquil, so quiet, that with all the blood, it did look like he was dead. I almost thought he had fallen asleep when he turned his head towards me to say something. I had been running the tissue right over his bruise, and the sudden movement caused it to graze over harshly on the raw skin.

"I didn't mean to do it that time!" I yelped, but it was too late to explain. Scar lunged toward the napkin and ripped it from my hands. The touch of his rough hands made my skin tingle. On instinct, I jumped up to run. I hadn't expected him to have such energy after almost being killed.

Before I could jump out of reach, he grabbed the hem of my skirt and tugged forcefully. I lost my balance and tumbled down on the couch. I couldn't even begin to imagine how stupid I must have looked. The soft leather broke my fall. Scar quickly moved to capture me against the couch, his arms as a barrier. It happened so unexpectedly that I almost choked on my own spit.

I looked up to meet Scar's cold gaze, my heart up in my throat. He pushed me hard with his weight. Somehow in the struggle, my hands were pressing against his toned chest, his own fingers trapping them there. I could feel the warmth of his skin seep through the thin sweater.

He simply stared back.

For several moments, I could only sit there in shock, my mind so occupied about the several millimeters between our faces to even bother wriggling out of his hold. 

"Scar- stop! It wasn't my fault that time, I swear. My hands...." I trailed off, blushing deeply. His wounds were drying, blood caked down his face. Even though he looked like a serial killer in that moment, my heart fluttered with the heat of his skin touching mine.