Trust

✍ Stubborn

We ran for what seemed like an eternity- winding through grey alleyways and busy streets. My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid it might pump right out of my chest; whether the reason for it was because I was being dragged through an unfamiliar neighbourhood by a guy I barely knew or whether it was because I was about as fit as Fat Amy in Pitch Perfect, I couldn't tell.

When we reached a vacant lot, Chase stopped running and released my arm. I jumped away from him, panting heavily. My lungs felt like they wanted to explode and no matter how much I gasped for air, there just didn't seem to be enough.

Chase gave me a funny look before asking, "You okay?"

There was an expression on his face that wasn't easy to read; it was kind of a mixture of amusement, worry, frustration and a few other emotions I couldn't comprehend.

"Fine," I said, bending over and placing both hands on my knees as I wheezed. "Just perfect."

"You're not terribly fit, are you?" The previous expression on Chase's face broke and he grinned. I glared at him.

"Well, no shit Sherlock." I straightened up as my breathing began to return to normal. Looking around the vacant lot, I frowned at the burnout marks on the concrete. The place smelt of cigarettes, alcohol and something even less pleasant. Various buildings were sprawled on the outside of the lot, blocking out the setting sun.

"Pia, what are you doing in this neighbourhood?" There was a hint of irritation in Chase's tone, but it was almost completely overridden by the genuine fear and worry on his face. "You don't belong here."

"I-" I stopped, unsure of how to reply. What was I meant to say? Oh yes. I came here because I had a fight with my dad and I didn't want to go home so I figured I would visit your neighbourhood and make a friendly house call and make friends with all your family and have a jolly good old time?

I shook my head. I was an idiot and I had no idea how I was going to answer Chase's perfectly reasonable question.

"C'mon. I'll walk you to the bus stop before it gets dark," Chase said, his grey eyes darkening. He winced when he turned and swung his injured arm. Swearing quietly under his breath, he cradled it to his chest and turned to me with a blank expression on his face. "We need to hurry though." He spun on his heel and began walking, but stopped when he realized I wasn't following him.

"Pia!" He was definitely irritated now and he was glaring at me. The eye that had been almost swollen shut earlier had now turned a wonderful shade of dark pink with splotches of yellow. His cheeks were cut and bruised and he had a cut just above an eyebrow. Dried blood was crusted on the tips of his eyelashes and to top it all off, his arm no longer looked broken to me; it looked dislocated.

"I'm not going anywhere until you get cleaned up," I said. "You look like shit and I don't want to go home knowing that you're in this condition." I gestured to his beat-up appearance. Chase looked down at his oversized white shirt and shorts as if noticing his injuries for the first time. Then, he looked up and shook his head again.

"Pia, don't be ridiculous. I'm fine," he said.

"No, you're not fine and you can't make me go to the bus stop." I crossed my arms across my chest and held Chase's gaze steadily. He held it for several moments before look away.

"Fine," he muttered. "Come along then."

I beamed at him in triumph and he just scowled as the wind tousled his dark brown hair and blew it into his uninjured eye.

"Don't scowl so much," I said. "It makes you wrinkle faster."

For a second, Chase looked like he didn't know how to reply, then he just grinned a little and rolled his eyes.

*****

Chase was in some serious pain.

As muffled as his groans were, it was obvious that my technique for popping his shoulder back into place had been more painful than expected. 

"Sorry. Oh sweet jumping jacks, I am so sorry. You need some ice to ice that spot now. I'm going to go look for ice now. Don't move, alright?" I was freaking out a little. All the times I'd ever pushed Adam's shoulder back into joint, it hadn't hurt him as much as it seemed to be hurting Chase now. 

Standing up and stumbling over the first aid box, I cursed a little before rushing into the kitchen. Finding a towel which I hoped was clean, I grabbed the ice box and tipped half the ice cubes onto the towel before wrapping up the ice and tying it off into a tight knot. Running back to the guy I'd possibly permanently injured, I pressed the ice lightly against the sore spot.

"I need you to hold it there for me, alright?" I said gently. Chase took the makeshift ice pack from me and held it firmly against his shoulder. I breathed a soft sigh of relief as my heartbeat began to slow down again. Fixing Chase's shoulder had been terrifying.

That was until I saw the cheeky grin pulling at the corners of Chase's lips. 

"Sweet jumping jacks, Pia?" He began to laugh, all earlier signs of distress gone. "Seriously?"

I stared at him incredulously. "It-It's just a phrase," I stammered, struggling to take in Chase's sudden transformation. When it sank in finally, however, I glared at him in annoyance. "You were just pretending, weren't you?"

In response, Chase just grinned. "Your face," he gasped between bouts of laughter, "it was priceless."

"You're mean," I said, feeling myself blush furiously. Leaning forward, I smacked the top of his head which only made him laugh harder.

Sighing, I leaned back against the wall, letting Chase's laughter envelope me. It wasn't a harsh sound, neither mocking nor cold or bitter. It was a warm, velvety sound that made me want to laugh as well, even though, if I joined in, I would just be laughing at myself.

"So tell me, Pia," Chase sobered, "Why is your nickname 'Poppy'? Should I call you Poppy or Pia?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I had a teacher in fourth grade who insisted on calling me Rose just because he liked roses better than poppies." I laughed a little at the thought of Mr Rotor who had been a very awkward man on the outside but with a heart of gold on the inside. Poor guy drank five cups of coffee a day and could talk anyone's ear off about his precious rose bushes. 

"He sounds like quite the ladies' man," Chase said, breaking into my thoughts and making me realize belatedly that I had been speaking out loud. 

I grinned. "Oh yes he was."

We both laughed and fell into a comfortable silence. It was nice to be able to sit with someone and not have to feel any tension or the pressing need to talk. Talking was overrated anyway.

I took the moment to take another quick observation at Chase's current state. I'd cleaned up his cuts and bruises earlier and though he still looked like he'd been through hell and back, he looked better. The bruises had begun to turn blue and his right cheek was swollen. Despite all this, Chase managed to look decent, his grey eyes still bright and his hair wearing a tousled look that, surprisingly, fitted him.

Five minutes passed and the quiet began to grow a little uncomfortable as it began to stifle me. In a world where we are always so busy running the rat race that is life, I hadn't learned to appreciate the value of silence.

I was about to make up some excuse to get going when the front door slammed and footsteps could be heard pounding into the hallway. Chase  shot up off the bed and swore loudly as his face twisted in pain, but before either of us could make another move, the door to the room was flung open.