When We Met

Twenty Three

|Donovan|

"Your sister might not wanna see your ruined face, Dylan." I say as he parks his car in front of his apartment.

"a) She's seen me at my worst, and b) she might not even be inside, you know?" He says nonchalantly and turns off the engine.

"What do you mean by the latter?"

"It's just us two, Cheryl. Why are you playing dumb?" He grins and I hit him.

"Why would she not be at home?"

"She's Deborah, and it's a Friday night. Do you really think she'd be at home?"

"I don't know how you didn't notice it, but her car is parked right there." I point towards our right and he follows my gaze.

"Oh no." He groans. "Jace's here as well. They're definitely down to their business. Let's get out of here immediately."

I start laughing. He is as adorable as a tiny little kid. So, this kid lets his car run far away from his apartment, which only makes the situation more hilarious.

"Would you stop laughing? It's highly embarrassing for me." I laugh louder.

"I wonder why my laughter is highly embarrassing for you."

"Wonder out loud, would you?"

"Nah. I like to keep things to myself. You should know that."

"And why should I?" He pulls into my driveway and gives me a side glance.

"You tell me."

We get out of the car and his face becomes conveniently visible under the street lights. I gasp with horror highly evident in the sound.

"I can see blood on your face. Your lip is cut into half. Your left eye looks bigger than your right eye. You have innumerable bruises." I word vomit.

"You're overexaggerating, Cheryl. I'm fine." He shrugs it off. I hit him again.

"I'm not overexaggerating. You don't even care, do you? Your face looks like it has been bashed by ten bricks. And it isn't even bothering you? Does it not hurt?"

"Nope."

I kick his shins.

"Are you trying to increase the number of bruises I have?"

"Maybe." I unlock the door to my apartment and close it behind Dylan. I push him down on the couch as soon as I turn the lights on.

"Woah, Donovan. Why are you so desperate?" There is a glint in his eyes that I wanna slap away.

"Yes. I am desperate to rid your face of all the blood. The wheels of your brain are taking you in a perfectly wrong direction."

I head for the bathroom and grab my first aid kit. One look at the box, and Dylan freaks out.

"Stay away, Cheryl. You dare not bring that devil close to me!" He prepares to stand up.

"Hey! Keep your butt planted on that couch, okay? It's just a first aid kit, not a bulldozer!"

"I'd prefer a bulldozer, thank you very much."

"Dylan. Stop testing my patience. Take one look at your condition and then talk to me."

"I look handsome."

"Did he hit you on your head as well?"

"Maybe."

"Sit down. Right now."

I push him again and settle down beside him. He glares at the box in my hand and starts rubbing the left side of his face. A painful groan follows.