Invisible

Invisible Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Sick Satisfaction

(Olivia)

I stare at the blood caked all over Mason’s hand, angry and concerned at the same time. I’m not sure what the black gunk is smeared in patches across his arms, but it’s pretty apparent Mason was out doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. I want to walk away, make him deal with his cut up hand on his own, but I just can’t do it.

“What happened?” I demand.

“Uh …” He looks down at his hand. I can tell he is choosing his words carefully, which only makes me madder.

“Where were you?” I snap.

Mason finally looks up at me. “Spying on the Sentinels.”

“What?”

How did he figure out where the Sentinels were in order to spy on them? Why didn’t he tell me? Why would he do something so stupid and risky? A dozen other questions start flying through my mind. They jumble and stick, keeping me from uttering a single one of them.

My hand rubs across my forehead slowly. The desire to walk away is compelling. I know he’d never be able to bandage up his hand on his own, and as angry as I am with him right now, I still can’t bear to leave him in pain.

Shoving him toward the stairs, I say, “You talk, I’ll bandage. And you better tell me everything.”

“I will,” Mason says quietly.

At the top of the stairs, we both freeze. Suddenly, I can’t stand the thought of being in the bathroom with him again. I could barely handle coming in here this morning on my own. I reach for the door handle, but I can’t do it, not with him standing next to me.

“Go down to the kitchen,” I command. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Mason nods wordlessly and makes a beeline for the stairs. My breath shudders out of me shakily, painfully. Determined to not be a wimp, I reach for the door knob. That’s as far as I get for a few minutes. I feel like an idiot. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to cry over Mason again. Fighting back every emotion, I shove the door open and dig through the cabinet desperately. I’m not even sure I got everything I need when I dart back down the stairs, but I don’t care.

When I round the corner to the kitchen Mason is standing at the sink trying to rinse off his injured hand. He winces as he gently rubs away the clotted blood around the cut. Not running over to him kills me. At the same time, seeing him in pain gives me a kind of sick satisfaction. I don’t help him.

As he finishes washing his hand, I open the kit and sort through the bottles and ointments I grabbed for some hydrogen peroxide and antibacterial cream. I’m so focused on not thinking about Mason, I jump when he sits down next to me. He doesn’t say a word as he lays his hand palm-down on a towel. I grimace at the cut running from his middle knuckle across his hand to just below where his thumb connects with his wrist. The flesh around the cut is red and swollen.

“How long ago did you cut this?” If it had just happened it wouldn’t look so agitated yet.

“About an hour ago,” Mason mumbles.

Staring at him angrily, I say, “Then why didn’t you come clean it up?”

“I couldn’t. I had to wait for the other Sentinels to show up.”

“What?” I demand. Then shaking my head, I hold up a hand. “Start from the beginning.”

The clippity-clop of Evie bounding down the stairs momentarily distracts us both. She skids to a stop just inside the kitchen door. Her eyes pop open wide at the scene before her. “What’s with all the bandages? Is Mason hurt?”