day1 love

Chapter 3* where did he go?

I looked at the couch and then at the clock.
The time was 7:30 am.

I felt a little queasy and a lot uneasy.
I hoped I was just overthinking things, but deep inside, I knew I wasn't.

Sam had gone to look for him.

HOW he would find him, I didn't know, as I'd never specified where we lived or where I was coming from when I arrived here.

I sat and stared off into space, then jumped up, paced, then sat some more

The last days caught up to me.
I fought to stay awake.
I swallowed a couple of Motrin from the medicine cabinet, to kill the pain in my face.
I stretched out on the couch, turned on some mindless TV show, before I knew it, it was watching me.

I awoke with a start, hearing the door close with a thud, and looked bleary eyed around.

He stood at the door, venom and anger a tangible thing, as he shook from temper, and his body's adrenaline.

He was bloody, and I could see from where I lay that his fists were clenched and cracked open.

I jumped up and ran to him, touching any part of him that I could reach really.
All the while trying to ascertain where the blood was coming from.
I panicked while saying, "Tell me where it hurts, tell me where you got stabbed!"
We have to stop the bleeding!"
I was almost hysterical.

He smirked his smirk at me, grabbed my hands in his, said with a humor laced tone,"Girl, stop!
This blood, it ain't even mines!"

Then, in a more sober speech pattern said, "As to where it hurts, that wound is right here" as he placed my hand over his heart.

I felt its strong and sure beat and looked up at him unable to say one word.

"It also hurts me here" he said softly, and traced the bruising under my eye and neck.

I inhaled softly, unbuttoned his Eagles jersey, more to get this horrible visage from my sight than anything else.

He let me, saying nothing, but still staring at me in a way that made parts of me throb that had nothing to do with my wounds.

He wore a white wife beater tee under the button down, tucked into the waistband of his black jeans that sagged a little but fit his hips.

And there it was. A gun.
Tucked.

I couldn't help myself, I got pissed.

Here he had just beaten my ex to a pulp, if all the blood was any indication, while on probation and house arrest, no less, and he was strapped.

I shot my gaze up to his, and saw the amusement there.
He saw the absolute fury in my winter grey gaze.

His eyes lost the merriment.
"Now, lil bit! I stay strapped. I know it ain't smart, but I'd rather have it than not! I left it in the ride cause I ain't trust myself not to kill him or pistol whip him.
Shit, he lucky that's all he got was a beat down," he stated, with heat in his tone, "for messing with mines"