The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 25

A few agonizing minutes later my forearm is cleansed and stitched. The future job much more successful than I anticipated.

The vodka helps, Andy and I share the bottle. He uses it as a mouthwash to clear the blood from his mouth, spitting into a cup supplied by his mother.

"Alright, were you paying attention?" I asked him to observe the delicate procedure halfway of the slice wound.

"Yeah and you still haven't told me why?" I hold the bloodied needle to him, he observes the point in confusion until my intentions materialise in his mind. "You want me to stitch you up?"

I confirm. "It's hard for me to see." Getting red faced I lower my sweater neck revealing slight cleavage which might look enticing if not coated in dry blood.

About to wipe the excess stain using a vodka soaked napkin, Andy takes the reigns instead, dabbing the area. I make the area more accessible, pushing the cotton to the furthest point without exposing my breasts. "Just tell me if it hurts." I focus on the ceiling tiles, leaning into his touch.

"Alright."

"Wait." I protest gulping another mouthful of Vodka. "Ok, go." the liquid sting overpowers his initial prick.

"You said you did this before... was it because of your parents?" I look at him, attention honed in on my gash.

"Yeah." I say recalling our last conversation or better yet argument. "I'm bad with apologies I gotta admit, not because I don't have a soul, but because I can't think of the right thing to say." His brows are knitted in concentration.

I understand Andy. All those occurrences back home where I'd explode on people for no reason. They weren't the ones causing me grief, but it's so easy to lose yourself in drowning emotions.

It's like a pressure cooker. If you prolong the release of steam you shouldn't be surprised by the violent outburst. "I blew the whole thing out of proportion and—"

"Shut up, Andy." He stops stitching and reestablishes eye contact. God he kills me with those eyes. The way his black hair sweeps downward covering half his forehead was stellar sexy.

"It was a stupid argument and I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. It's no biggie." He processes the information, continuing to sew my torn skin. "Did you just apologise?" I shrug but the movement triggers a painful stab.

"Sorry."

"You over apologize, have you noticed?" I have, it's a birth defect that Scouts attempting to stamp out pointing out every 'sorry' I say.

"I'm trying really hard, not to say sorry again."

"I can see that and you just said it again." He smirks, the sight making me forget he was piecing my skin together. "I can't deal with the tension, wanna hear a joke?"

"Don't you dare, I might stab you by accident." Andy responds shakily.

"I don't care I'm saying it anyway. Where is an Elephants sex organ?" He looks at me expectantly, frowning in the silence. "Where?" He asks unenthusiastically.

"In his foot because if he stomps on you, you're fucked." I want to record him, head hung low struggling to contain his convulsive laughter. "I'm gonna use that one."

I smirk proudly in response. He edges closer, gently blowing on the wound a shiver runs down my spine. My ears are heating up, "Ok, I got one, but it's a racist joke." This I had to hear.

"Donald Trump." I chortle uncontrollably, trying my hardest not to move while he continues stitching, "Stop moving." He growls, the intense delivery weakened by a worried grin. "Sorry." I apologize.

"Stop apologizing."

"I'm sor—mph." He cups his clean hand over my mouth, muffling my speech but I'm overcome by fits of giggle. "Goddamn it, stop laughing." He chuckles immersed in deep thought.

I cup my breasts catching the fabric threatening to expose my nipples. Note to self, always wear a bra when you leave the house. Usually I do but when I mean to dash to the corner shop purely to restock the fridge I don't figure on fighting a group of thieves. "Hm HmmMm Mmm."

Translation, "I'm trying to."

Andy closes the air between us, straightening his back and removing his hand from my mouth. "What happens if life gives you melons?"

"Tristan, don't—" he warns almost finished stitching the last quarter below my left collar bone. "You dyslexic." It takes a second for the joke to register but when it does we can barely breath.

"Oh shit, I'm mad I laughed." I agree leaning my head forward to view his progress, almost complete. "I can't see if your trying to see."

"Sorry." I mutter, returning to stare at the white ceiling. "Tristan..."

"Wait I take it back, I forgot." Vodka is dangerous, I'm in an unexplainable giggly mood and it's running off on Andy whose got five punctures left. "Ugh, stay still." He snarls impatiently, unable to prevent cracking a smile.

I could get high on his looks alone, I swear. "Alright, two more to go."

"Then you have to knot the end." I inform finally calming down long enough for the second last sew. "What do you do if your partner starts smoking—tss." I wince at the knot tightening.

Squeezing my eyes shut he takes the opportunity to render me speechless. Without warning he kisses me stealing all the oxygen in my lungs.