Troubles | TROY OTTO |

Chapter One

His appearance surprises her, a soft noise escaping at the sight of the bloody bandage. She had caught a glimpse of it when he was driven up to his house, but it hadn't looked nearly as bad as it did now. Her mouth screws into a discontent frown before she motions for him to sit on a cot, hand patting the thin mattress. Troy complies sullenly, uncomfortable by the expression on her face - clearly indicating her disappointment. Ella didn't have the luxury of focusing on her emotions. Instead, she peels the old bandage off without thought, a grimace on her face from the image that greets her. The damage is apparent by the discoloration of his skin, the sky held in his gaze swollen shut.

Her fingers prod gently at the injury, dark brown irises focused solely on the wound with intense care. He winces from her touch, but she ignores the action. It probably hurts, but he had gotten himself in the mess anyway, no doubt. If he hadn't gotten himself injured, she wouldn't have to inspect it.

She moves to the table and reaches for both a new bandage and the antibiotic ointment. Returning to her previous position, she slathers a generous amount of the thick substance on her fingertips before smothering the damaged and bruised skin. It is silent as she works until the boy parts his lips, uncharacteristic hesitance taking hold.

"I didn't mean for this to happen." His voice holds a twinge of remorse, child-like in nature - like a young boy scolded despite no words having left her lips. The silence is the most unnerving part to him, having been used to yells of what he did wrong as a kid. Part of him wants her to yell and scream -- tell him how he messed up, as if he didn't already know. but she didn't. Her lips remained sealed, gaze trained on her handiwork.

After placing the clean bandage on his face, delicately taped to seal out bacteria, a sigh escapes. Chocolate meets sparkling blue, the corners of her mouth tilting upward in a reassuring smile. As much as she would like to keep her charade up, Ella can't seem to hold the firm features on her face for very long.

"It's okay, Troy. I'm just glad you made it back." She was. She had spent days worrying that he wouldn't return to her, nights fitful as insomnia took her mind hostage. Her brain had conjured countless images of things that could go wrong for him, all ending badly on his behalf. As much as she would have liked him to be completely intact, she couldn't have stopped the flood of relief when he entered the gate, bloody cloth covering his eye and all.

He gazed at her, awe-stricken. He felt the familiar thudding in his chest by her words, an effect that isn't unfamiliar, but is rare. Ella had always been gentle with him; kind with her touch and her words. In the beginning, he thought she had a hidden agenda. No one cared for him without wanting something from him, but she had been different. She didn't fear him like the others. His outbursts of anger and cruelty didn't deter her from wrapping her trembling fingers around his bicep and attempting to calm the beast beneath his skin. Her voice was always soothed it until it lulled back into slumber.

Ella had been an enigma that he had been suspicious of. The sincerity of her actions made him cautious, biting down interaction because he couldn't bring himself to trust her. But she trusted him. He didn't know if she was naive or just stupid, but whatever the cause, she saw something good in him even when he couldn't see it himself.

Just as his thoughts spiraled to the beginning of their story, her lips mold softly against his; a sensation that spread a familiar comforting fire in his bones. Her hands place themselves on top of his, thumbs resting on his wrist; the place of his erratic pulse. A hum of recognition vibrates in the back of her throat before she leans back, amusement glistening in the hypnotic brown gaze that holds his attention.

"Do I still make you nervous?" She murmurs the question contently, satisfied by the influence she has on the boy. Ella can feel her own racing heartbeat throughout her body, pooling toward her palms - every point in physical contact with him. She sees him fight to swallow the lump in his throat, a sign she was correct in her assumption. A quiet laugh leaves her grinning lips as she forces herself to put space between them.