Chapter 16 #3
Sweat breaks out along my brow, my chest heaving as I struggle to keep my breathing as controlled as possible—to focus on the steady in-out-in-out instead of the pain rippling through my leg.
Finally, I hear a soft clunk. The sound of the blood-stained glass hitting the tile floor.
I sag against the counter, leg dropping like dead weight as Kai lets go of me to scoop up the glass.
Once the glass is stashed safely in a paper towel, Kai cleans off the wound with a warm towel and wraps it with an adhesive bandage.
Despite his shaking hands, his touch is still gentler than anyone else who’s cared for me before.
He reads the slight pulses in my nerves—the unexpected jolts of pain—and slows or softens his movements in response.
I wonder if he plans to go into medicine, to handle patients with the same care.
To whisper softly that they’ll be all right.
Or is this something reserved just for me?
It’s a pretty thought, but I don’t—can’t—let it linger. Not after tonight. Not when the world proved that a popular boy’s attention isn’t the miracle I once thought it was. Not with Mikey’s warning voicemail echoing in my head.
My attention fixes on the paper towel Kai sets down on the counter beside me.
In just a few seconds it’s almost soaked through with blood, the shard much bigger than I anticipated.
Just looking at the jagged edges makes bile crawl up my throat.
I’m not sure what hurts worse—the phantom pain of the glass, or the phantom sensation of Timothy’s lips against mine.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” Kai says, breaking the silence, after wiping down his own sweat-drenched face with a towel.
He reaches into a basket beside the toilet and hands me a fresh towel of my own, waiting until I’ve wiped down my brow and damp collarbone to continue.
“But…” He trails off, glancing down between my foot and the small drops of blood staining the tile.
Keeping his gaze on the floor when he finally finds the courage to speak again. “What did he do?”
I swallow hard and dig my fingers into my arms to keep myself grounded.
To stop the nausea from overwhelming me again.
I don’t want to linger on it—to relive that moment and the sourness of his breath—but I know if I can tell anyone it’s Kai.
Mami would find a way to twist the story and make me the villain—tell me that I led Timothy on or did something to make him think this was what I wanted.
Mikey would do the same thing he does to anyone who pisses him off—solve the problem with his fists. I have no one else.
So, I tell Kai everything. About how I’d seen that the sliding door was open and assumed the worst. How I came prepared with a weapon, in case I had to defend myself.
Timothy startling me—the scream he’d heard all the way from the shed.
How Timothy had me trapped in a mess of shattered glass, unable to run.
That he kissed me, hard and messy. That I did my best to push against him but all he did was hold me tighter.
That I wasn’t sure what else he would’ve done if Kai hadn’t come back when he did.
How sick it made me feel. How I can still feel his touch lingering all over me.
When I finish, Kai doesn’t say anything.
He turned his gaze up toward me when I mentioned the scream he must’ve heard, guilt written all over him, but his eyes wander when I get to the kiss.
His shoulders tremble as I continue, to the point that he’s practically vibrating by the time I finish.
He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “I’m going to kill him” before rocketing up at breakneck speed.
Before I can ask him where he’s going—or ask him to stay—he’s rushing out of the bathroom and storming toward the deck.
“Kai!” I call out to him as I hop off the counter and do my best to trail after him. I can only go so fast without putting any weight on my foot, and he has an athlete’s stamina and rage powering him.
“Timothy!” Kai shouts as he throws the sliding door open so hard I worry the glass will shatter. The frame wobbles as the door snaps back, suddenly loose on its track from the force of being yanked open, but the glass thankfully stays in one piece.
I grab onto anything I can find—table edges and chair arms—for balance and guidance as the light from my phone fades once he gets outside.
By the time I make it over to the sliding door, Kai looks like he’s a ticking time bomb seconds from exploding.
There’s a red-hot flush to his skin as he paces the edge of the deck and points the flashlight at something over the edge.
“Where is he?” I ask, lingering in the doorway and gripping the wall for balance.
Kai leans over the railing, his grip on the wood banister so tight it looks like he could snap it. With a scoff, he leans back up and points the light toward the ground so I can see what he sees. A set of fresh footprints in the mud, headed into the woods.
“Gone.”