Chapter 12
EVERLEIGH
After doing what I can to clean him up and wrapping his side tight, I slip my arms under his and drag him through the living room.
His body is dead weight.
I’m hoping not actual dead weight.
He doesn’t help, barely even reacts, just mutters something under his breath and then goes quiet again.
My stiffness slightly fades because I know he’s alive at least.
His skin is still cold when I finally get him onto my bed, and it makes something in my chest twist in a way I don’t have time to deal with right now.
I shove a pillow under his head and he still doesn’t move, nor does he wake up.
“Don’t die,” I mutter under my breath before stepping away.
I leave him there and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing whatever I can to deal with the disaster he left behind.
The foyer looks like a crime scene.
Blood is smeared across the floor, drops trailing from the door to where he collapsed.
“Jesus,” I mumble, already crouching down and pressing the paper towels into the dark liquid.
They soak through instantly, so I continue to press extras ones into the blood to get the rest.
I grab more, pressing harder into the floor, trying my best to not to think of him possibly lying dead in my bed.
Because if I think about him.. even for a second.
I’ll cry.
There is no way I’m allowing that to happen.
I don’t do that anymore.
I push the thought from my head and keep cleaning.
After cleaning up as much of the mess as I can, I toss the blood-soaked paper towels and mop pads into the trash, pushing them down deep like I can bury what they were used for. But the faint metallic smell still lingers in the air, clinging to everything no matter how much I scrubbed it.
I head back to my bedroom to check on Dante.
He hasn’t moved from his spot which at first seems to put me on edge, but I can see him breathing from here, so my panic eases.
I close the door softly behind me and move toward the bed, lowering myself onto the edge, my eyes locking onto him immediately.
His dark hair is damp from the sweat coming from his skin causing random strands to cling to his forehead. His face looks to have a bit more color than earlier.
It’s still pale, but not as bad as before.
His lips hold a faint pink color, which almost looks normal.
Alive. He looks alive. He is alive.
That’s the most important thing to me.
My gaze drifts lower, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing isn’t erratic anymore. Each inhale and exhale feels like a breath of fresh air to me.
Funny.
The wound isn’t bleeding like it was. The bandaging around it is still dark from the blood stains, but it’s not spreading anymore. It seems to be contained.
For now anyway.
I sit there for a second longer than I should, just watching him, making sure; really making sure that he’s not about to slip away the second I look away.
Then I glance down at my hands seeing that they are still immensely stained from his blood.
I smell like death and I’m sure I look like it too.
I stand up abruptly, and walk toward the bathroom.
I need to wash this off.
Any sign that this even happened tonight.
Father needs to know everything went right.
No mistakes.
Dante has to be perfect in his eyes. I need to make sure he views him as useful.
Because if he’s no longer useful to him.. he won’t keep him around. And I already know what happens to things my father doesn’t keep.
I won’t allow that to happen to him.
Anyone but him.
After a few steps forward, I step into the bathroom and flip the light on. It’s bright as hell when it illuminates the room.
Once I shut the door, I gaze into the mirror to see the damage.
There’s blood everywhere. It’s in places I didn’t even know I had it on. My face is streaked with it, like I must’ve wiped my hand against it without thinking.
I look like I just walked out of a horror movie.
My hair is disheveled and looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days. The blood is stuck to it in places too. But I don’t stare at myself for long.
I turn the shower on, twisting the handle until it hits full heat. Once the steam fills the bathroom, I know it’s time to climb in.
I pull my clothes off slowly, feeling the dry blood peel away where it stuck to my skin through the material.
I toss them in the corner without a second thought.
A shiver runs through me as glance at them. I never want them touching me again. I don’t even want to think about this anymore.
I step into the shower and the pounding of the water hits my back as I turn it towards the stream.
I stand there for a few minutes, watching faint streaks of red slide down my legs and disappear into the drain. It seems to run red forever, and I can’t stand seeing it that way anymore so I grab the soap and start scrubbing profusely at my skin.
My hands first.
Between my fingers.
Under my nails.
Then my arms.
My stomach.
Anywhere I can still feel it.
Though Mom didn’t have any blood on her when she died, anything to do with death or blood still unsettles me a bit.
I think the way I saw her that night killed whatever normal I had left in me.
I scrub harder.
My skin begins to sting a bit, but I don’t stop until the water finally starts to run clear.
My breathing seems to normalize after a minute, the sound of the water drowning everything else out.
My head dips forward slightly as I watch the water run over my body, through the tiles and down the drain.
Out of my peripheral, the bathroom door slowly opens. I turn my head toward the noise, heart now pounding again.
And then I see him.
Dante.
I let out a deep breath realizing it’s just him and not some psycho who followed him home after what happened.
He’s in the doorway, barely standing upright.
One of his hands is braced against the frame like he needs it to balance himself and the other is pressed hard against his side.
Blood is slightly soaking through the bandage again. But it’s still not as severe as earlier this evening.
“Are you shitting me?” I whisper to myself.
He looks like shit. But shit is better than dead.
“What are you doing?” I snap, pushing wet hair back out of my face. “You should not be up right now.”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes barely seem capable enough to stay open, but they do.
His eyes drag over my form through the glass which hits me with a heavy realization.
I’m naked right in front of him.
He’s seeing me completely nude.
Is it fate?
Not days before, I was in this very shower with my fingers between my legs, touching myself to the thought of him.