The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 24

"Come on, ma." Ma? As in short for her first name or short for mother?

"Don't you Ma me, I'm sorry he did this to you sweetheart?" My torn skin throbs achingly in need of medical attention, if I don't patch it up soon the scarring will become permanent.

"Woah, he didn't do this," I correct profusely, I figured he was jumped as local attacks have become more frequent from dusk till dawn in the neighbourhood. "It was a failed mugging attempt."

Andy frantically pads his pockets when 'mugging' is mentioned then his broad shoulders hunch in failure as he expels a disappointed sigh. "Successful actually."

She makes a tch sound wearing a disapproving scowl which, I must admit, resembles Andy's to the finest detail. They are definitely related.

"Congratulations Andrew." She huffs in annoyance pulling silver streaked blonde hair in a low ponytail, "Alright, in ya come, I'll get the first aid kit."

"Do you have a needle and thread as well?" We enter the narrow gap Ms Biersack leaves for us to scoot pass, the dimly lit atmosphere creates a romantic backdrop.

If Andy wasn't bruising like a peach and I bleeding on the shadow engulfed floor, the sight might've made me swoon. "Sure but I don't wanna be threatened with any legal action if you die on this floor--"

"Ease up ma, she knows what she's doing." I'm grateful for his defense, sliding inside the cushioned booth in a crumpled heap, we evoke exhausted groans of contentment simultaneously.

His left hand rests comfortably on my bare shoulder while we linger in the embrace, I resist nestling against him yearning for his radiating warmth. The scent of his testosterone reawakens my drowsy senses.

"Thank you." He exhales, I instinctively wipe a drop of blood that spills from his lip, drawing his focus to my inkured forearm lacking Jake's bracelet. "Jesus, Tristan--" Delicate long fingers smear across my bloodstained skin, "It could've been heaps worse." I reassure.

"Here you are, sterilized and everything. Just for future reference, what's your name?" His mum returns setting an open first aid kit on the cream tabletop, I release my grip on Andy's waist.

"Tristan, I'd shake your hand but..." The blood answers itself.

"Say no more, just take care of my hopeless son over 'ere, will ya?" I nod while he rolls his eyes moodily. "Donchoo give me attitude Andy, I saw that." She says sternly pointing an accusing finger.

"Sorry, ma." He says repressively. It's refreshing to see the inner workings of other families sometimes, especially when you've grown up the unfortunate way I have.

I organise the materials systematically. Separating the thread strands and tying a fiddly knot through the needle eye, I collect a thick wad of napkins, moping up the partial spots of blood on Andy's face. "Don't be ridiculous, take care of yourself first." I slap his inked hands away, he gives in after much useless resistance.

"You're more bruised than cut up, so that's good...did you know those guys?" I say attaching thin strips of stitchless bandages on his lip, temple and nose bridge.

"Not really, but I've seen them in passing. I was in the corner store when I made the mistake of opening my wallet too far, they saw the cash inside and they followed me out, punches were thrown..." He gazes at me as if I was an alien, ice blue eyes searching my close in proximity face, fascinated.

This Andy is not the same person I remember from the Fire Pit. No sly remarks? Perverted glances? My sweater can only hide so much.

"Yeah, I could tell." I add matter of factly. He's patched up and good to go "Do you know if your mum has an ice pack handy?"

"Hey ma, you got any ice back there?" She doesn't respond verbally. Ducking through the employees only door, she reappears tossing a firmly tied napkin clacking from the ice cubes within.

"Thanks." I catch it after Andy misjudges the trajectory, probably still affected by the possible concussion he suffered, hence the ice. "Here, the fastest way to get a brain freeze."

He laughs through his nose but plays it off as a sniff, regaining his usual hard exterior. Laying my hand on the table, palms face up, I prepare the needle and thread ready to stitch myself up.

This isn't my first time stitching up a slice wound however the last scar I received was due to terrible stitching. "Ma, were gonna need some vodka while you're at it?" He calls with a hint of urgency, eyeing the setup half squinting.

He's discomfort is somewhat attractive. The bottle isn't thrown but slid to Andy's open hand on the barrier splitting two rows of booths. This one he catches but it is a close call.

"You got it?"

"Yep."

He takes a few gulps then offers it to me, I do the same then douse my wound in the cool liquid wincing and curling my fist in attempt to dull the sharp pain.

"You've done this before?" Andy asks as I penetrate the skin, clenching my teeth as I puncture the opposing side and pull the thread slowly. "Unfortunately, you ever get stitches before?"

"Yeah, but not for saving someone else's life." He says sincerely, readjusting the ice on his skull base.

"I didn't save your life, if anything I endangered it." Pfft he responds dismissing the statement.

"Don't kid yourself." Repeating the sewing motion, withholding grimaces I analyse his expression, smiling when I figure out why he's moody. "No way, you're pissed that I intervened aren't you?"

His pupils flick to mine, amused. "I think that's the first time I heard you swear." I was too occupied by the epiphany I hadn't noticed.

He chuckles and it's the first time I've seen him genuinely happy, "Baby's first words." It's impossible not to join his smiling and laughter which is extremely contagious.

"Piss off." I smack his solid chest playfully.