The Seventh Avenger

Chapter 43: Blood

There was so much blood.

When I had first bought the apartment, I had been a little disappointed about the hardwood floors-I had always preferred carpet, though I was suddenly starting to think that I made the right choice in trusting my gut and choosing the apartment with the hardwood floors. After all, it was going to be a whole lot easier to clean up the blood that James was currently oozing out all over me and the floor as we struggled forward.

Moving forward proved to be rather difficult, as James lacked the strength to properly hold himself up. Thus, the majority of his weight was placed on me, his arm still wrapped firmly around my shoulder while I kept a tight grasp around his waist, being careful to avoid his bleeding wound. It was a bit of a struggle to keep him upright, though I somehow managed to do so as James and I didn't go crashing to the ground as we pressed forward.

We moved slow, with myself not wanting to rush him and possibly cause him more harm. Every now and again he would make a small noise of pain, though I knew that there was nothing I could do about it until he was seated. Which couldn't be sooner enough, as I was seriously struggling with his weight right now-he was bigger than the average man. I wasn't talking about excessive fat either-he was entirely made of muscle, that much was evident. I could feel the ones in his arm shifting about as he clung to me, the feeling causing for me to nervously glance at his arm from the corner of my eye. He hadn't been exaggerating when he had said that he could kill me without his gun: he looked strong enough to snap my neck if he wanted too...

This thought is immediately pushed to the back of my mind however as he gasps in pain once more, his eyes widening as he clutches at his wound with his metal arm. He was in no state to hurt me, even if he wanted to. At this point, he was as harmless as a fly.

At least, I hoped so.

I eventually got him to the couch, gently helping him ease down onto the soft furniture. He clung to me until he was settled and when I drew back I saw that he had his eyes clenched tightly shut with his jaw set. It was clear to me that he was in a lot of pain, though he was trying hard to conceal this for whatever reason I didn't know. Sinking down on the couch beside him, I tentatively reach forward with my hand to try and move his metal one away from the wound-

Pain flares up in my hand as he cool metal fingers instantly wrap themselves around my wrist, squeezing it so tightly that I honestly wouldn't be surprised if bruises were already formed if he released my hand from his grasp. I suck in a sharp breath in an attempt to keep from crying out in pain, though I flicker my gaze up to lock with his beside me. Not to my surprise, the same glare that he had worn on his face for the short time that I had known him was once again glued to his face, clearly not liking the fact that my hand was anywhere near his wound. He wanted my help however. So whether or not he liked it, I was going to have to get a closer look at the wound. So keeping completely still where I sit beside him, I inform him calmly, "I'm going to need my hand if you want me to fix you."

His eyes darken at my words, clearly not trusting me in the slightest. I watch however as they flicker down towards my hips, becoming fixated on something that I didn't know. I soon figure out what it was that he was looking at however, as I slowly reach back with my free hand and grab his gun from my back pocket. His fingers immediately tighten around my wrist at the movement, causing me to hiss as the pain intensifies. Rather than snapping for him to let me go, I simply pull the gun out slowly from behind me and lean forward to place it on the coffee table beside him. "Better?" I ask dryly, as I once again lean back.

He doesn't immediately let go of my hand, though after a brief moment of hesitation, he finally releases my wrist. The moment that it's free, I use my other hand to rub along the now sensitive skin, hoping in vain that it would soothe the pain that I felt. It does nothing to help, causing for me to drop my hands in my lap. Keeping my eyes trained on him, I say evenly, "I need to have a closer look at the wound. So can you try and not rip my arms off if I get close?"