21. Chapter 20 #2
“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, pushing the non-beaten side of his face into the pillow.
A door creaked open. More light filtered into the common area.
“Ezra? Is that you?” Ivy’s voice called out.
“Yeah.”
He heard her footsteps on the wooden floor as she padded across the room. “You’re so late. I thought your last class ended around seven?”
“Not really in the mood to chat.”
She scoffed and flicked on the lamp next to the couch, and Ezra winced. “I figured you’d be dy—oh my god, what the hell happened to you?”
“I pissed off the wrong person,” he groaned, shifting slightly as she sat on the edge of the couch next to him. Despite his moving, her hip still pressed against his torso, sending heat coursing through his body.
“Why am I not surprised?” She joked, her hand coming to his chin so she could tilt his injury further into the light.
A few moments later, she left, and the refrigerator door opened as she rummaged around for something before coming back.
“Put this on it for now. I have some other stuff in my room that should help.”
He couldn’t see what it was exactly, but when he held out his hand, she placed a freezing plastic bag of vegetables in it.
Before he could protest anything more, she rushed off to her bedroom.
As he pressed the bag to his face, the sounds of rustling paper and clinking glass came from her room, and he sighed as the cold seeped through his hot, bruised skin.
“Okay,” she said, coming back to sit in her spot on the couch a few minutes later.
He turned a little so he could see her again, and there was a small vial of a bluish-green liquid in her hand.
A restoration potion for his magic. Though it wouldn’t immediately bring him to full power, it would help him regenerate it faster. “Take this.”
He took it from her and popped the cork and pressed the lip of the vial to his lips. A mild peppermint flavor coated his tongue as he tipped it back. “You don’t have to help me, you know,” he said, handing it back to her. “This is my own fault.”
“I’m sure it is,” she chuckled, placing it on the coffee table. She picked up a small bowl, a strong herb scent coming from it, and gestured to the bag on his face. “Take that off for a minute.”
He listened to her, tossing the bag onto the table. Then her fingers glided along his skin to spread the cold cream. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to heal you,” she said, examining him closely. “I’m not the best healer, but it should at least save you a trip to the hospital if you don’t have a concussion.”
He quieted for a moment, resisting the urge to lean into her touch.
The medicine soaked into his skin, the heavy throbbing slowing to a slow pulse.
He watched her as she worked, her brows tight with concentration.
Her messy hair was tied into a knot at the base of her neck, allowing him a glimpse of the slope down her neck to her collarbone peeking out beneath her threadbare sweatshirt with her high school logo.
In the folds of the fabric, he could make out the words “Debate Club”. Why didn’t that surprise him?
“Why?” he asked faintly.
“Why, what?”
“Heal me? I thought you hated me.”
She sighed, her hand faltering for a moment before dipping back into the bowl.
She brushed the cream over his skin, which probably resembled more of a balloon than an eye.
“I don’t hate you,” she murmured. “You get under my skin most days, and you can be an asshole, but I don’t hate you. I feel…” her voice trailed off.
“You feel what?” he asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” she said, placing the bowl on the table.
“Like there’s something more to you than what you show off to everyone.
The jokes, the flirting, it’s like some defensive mechanism so people don’t see the real you.
Whenever I catch you off-guard, it’s like I’m seeing that instead of what you try to be. ”
He was at a loss for words. He could count on one hand the number of people whom he let beyond his well-crafted barriers. Nobody snuck behind them without him realizing it. Until her.
“Maybe I’m the one who needs to work on my facial expressions, huh?” he chuckled, but quickly groaned as the laughter sent a sharp pain through his skull.
“I don’t think you do.” She cupped his cheek with her hand, and his breath hitched. She pulled her hand back for a moment. “Sorry, that probably stings. But I have to touch you for the spell.”
“It’s alright,” he whispered. In truth, it didn’t hurt at all.
It was good. Better than good. It was a comfort he’d been missing for so long that his chest nearly caved in.
She placed her hand on his cheek again, the tips of her fingers lying around his eye, and the scent of her vanilla hand lotion curled around him. “Why don’t you think so?”
“Everyone deserves to be who they truly are. We shouldn’t have to lock pieces of ourselves away for others to accept us, right?
” She closed her eyes, murmuring the words for a spell that emitted a gentle green light from her palm.
Her magic blended with the medicine, fading his pain and inflammation.
A few moments later, his eye opened, and his vision returned.
The light faded, but her hand remained on his cheek.
She opened hers again, her gaze bouncing around his face to check her handiwork. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better, I think.”
She pulled her hand away, inspecting his skin, before holding up a few fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers are there?”
He rolled his eyes. “Three.”
She put down two, leaving her index finger raised. “Follow my finger with only your eyes.”
He followed her instructions as she moved her finger from side to side.
“Alright.” She dropped her hand into her lap. “Do you know where we are?”
“I don’t have a concussion.” From the firm look on her face, she wouldn’t let him go without an answer. “We’re in your apartment in Embry Hall.”
“And my name is?”
“Snapdragon.” His lips curled into a smile when her own twitched at the nickname he’d given her.
“My real name?”
“Ivy,” he said, her name falling out more breathlessly than he intended. He noticed her shoulders tense for a moment, and her pale cheeks tinged a slight shade of pink, before she cleared her throat.
“Well, I think you’re going to be okay,” she said, shifting on the couch to grab what she’d discarded on the table. “You might still have some bruising in the morning, and you should go to the nurse just in case.”
“I’m sure I’m fine,” he reassured, moving onto his back once she stood.
“Try to get some sleep,” she said, shuffling back to her bedroom. “Good night, Ezra.”
“Good night, Ivy.”