Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
When I’d managed to cough air back into my lungs, I lifted myself from the tub and grabbed a towel by the side, wrapping it around myself firmly as I carelessly stepped out of the tub, forgetting water had soaked the tiles.
One second, my leg was on the floor, and the next, it was slipping, and my body was plummeting right underneath my feet, and I met the ground with a forceful, sharp thud that sounded like a slap.
Something shattered, and a sharp pain sliced into my elbow. There was also a tingling burn inside my mouth.
For a few minutes, I remained in that position on the ground. My body hurt. My head, light—and my mind, still a void.
December 1st.
I hated every single fucking bit of this day. Bad luck always followed. Everything always went wrong. Even if I prepared myself the day before, something would ruin it. Something that would hurt me, either mentally or physically.
Even today, I still could not pinpoint what or who exactly had jinxed me the day I turned nineteen.
Was it because I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed that day?
Would things have turned out differently if I had woken up on my right side?
Was it because I did not eat with Elia on that day?
Or was it my sister’s words, which still echoed in my ear if I stopped and listened for her voice amongst the chaos in my head?
The last three words she ever said to me.
“I hate you!”
A sigh left my lips as I started to move, trying to inspect the damage on my arm.
I had broken some glass objects during my fall, which injured me.
Looking in the direction where the pain came from, the bite intensified when I saw the gash.
The skin above my elbow had been slashed—deep enough to need stitches. The ground was messy, stained with blood and water.
“Fuck.”
I managed to stand, tremors still in my hands, as I headed to the mirror to check the damage inside my mouth.
I bared my teeth; they were all bloody. I’d injured my upper gum, but it didn’t hurt as much as my elbow.
I spat the blood into the sink and rinsed my mouth and teeth until the water ran clear.
Then I started inspecting my elbow wound, also managing to find a first-aid kit. I washed off the blood that had slipped down my hand before cleaning the damage and treating it.
Fishing out a bandage and trying to work that open with one hand and my teeth, I managed to free it, but it rolled right onto the ground, the cloth getting wet with the water and blood on the floor—another mess.
I closed my eyes for about ten seconds, trying to tamp down the sudden urge to break something out of annoyance.
At that same moment, I heard the door to my bedroom open and close.
“Elio?” Zahra’s voice met my ears, and I froze. “You in the bathroom?”
Her footsteps drew closer until the bathroom door opened, and her eyes found me—the smile on her face dying instantly when she caught sight of the blood and the mess.
“What the fuck happened?” She rushed toward me, inspecting my hand as concern filled her eyes. “Are you okay?” She reached to touch me. “Let me see—”
“Don’t,” I said, tugging my hand from her reach. “I will take care of it.”
She looked up at me and then back at the wound. “It’s okay, I can help cover it—”
“I will do it myself, thank you.”
She reached for me again, but I tugged away.
Her brows curved in a frown, brown eyes showing equal parts care and annoyance. “Let me help you.”
“I am very capable of tending to myself.”
“But it looks terrible; how did it happen?” Her gaze moved around the bathroom.
I took that time to scan her from head to toe; her hair was left loose and styled to perfection, and she wore a red dress that stopped high on her thighs and showcased too much cleavage.
She smelled good, too, fresh out of a probably less traumatic bath than the one I had just experienced.
What is she doing here? Yesterday, if I recall correctly, she was in Mexico.
Her gaze fell back to me, searching as she reached forward again. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you let me help?”
“Because there is no need for that.”
“You don’t have to be stubborn about it. You clearly can’t do it yourself; your hands are shaking—”
“I can do it myself.”
“E—”
“Can you give me space?” I snapped, irritated. “I will tend to myself and then join you in a moment; can you do that?”
She blinked, probably sensing I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. She hesitated a moment, sighing, and thankfully backed off. “Okay, I’ll wait for you outside the—”
“The bedroom, outside the bedroom.”
She was taken aback, her lips thinning downward, and then she nodded. “Okay.”
With that, she left the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I waited until the bedroom door opened and closed, and then I let out a breath of relief, not realizing how much I hated her seeing me like this.
Shame was the most prominent emotion.
It took a while, but I managed to finish up with the wound and clean the mess in the bathroom. When I reached my wardrobe, all the black button-ups seemed … bloodied, like the one I had taken off earlier.
Unable to stand it, I went to another section in the wardrobe and found a white one. I felt satisfied as I put that on quickly and made myself look presentable before leaving the room.
I found her in the kitchen, leaning on the table with her fingers tapping furiously on her phone screen.
Her legs were on full display, tanned, brown, and so beautiful. The dress seemed to be made especially for her, and the urge to hug her from behind was there, but I knew she would probably smell the oddness of my mood and not my cologne.
She didn’t notice me until I was in line with her vision, and she did a double take while my eyes zeroed in on the cake right by her side on the kitchen counter.
My stomach—something was wrong with my stomach.
“I love the shirt,” she said with a genuine, surprised smile, putting her phone away.
“Thank you,” I said, ignoring the cake and the feeling it evoked, before moving to the whiskey collection on the shelf, turning away from her as I got a glass and a bottle.
When I turned, she was rounding the counter and putting her arms around me in a hug that warmed me and relaxed the muscles the water in the tub and my connection with the ground had made tight.
“I’ve missed you. Happy birthday,” she said. The smile and brightness in her voice made me feel even heavier than before.
“Hm.”
She pulled away to look up at me as I dropped the items in my hand on the counter.
“You didn’t hear me say that on the phone when it was midnight? I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Very thoughtful,” I responded, pouring myself a drink as silence reigned. Finally, she sighed.
“What’s going on, Elio?” she asked, and I glanced at her, noting a bit of confusion, anticipation, and a little excitement as she spoke.
“Are you mad because I didn’t text you? If you are, there’s a reason for that.
Aside from being on the flight and having it delayed by an hour, we arrived back at the condo you rented for us, and Milk and I had to get things from the store while we tried to help Dog bake a cake.
I told Street it was your birthday, and Dog saw it as a good opportunity to bake.
It was chaos in the kitchen, and then we had to let the cake cool for hours after it was done baking, and then we decorated it—I helped with the whole thing and it took great efforts and you need to try it, I—”
“It looks wonderful,” I cut in, holding the whiskey glass and taking a sip as I eyed the cake and then her.
She was looking right at me, eyebrows brushed; eyes brighter due to the light color she had applied; her lips were glossed, and she looked terrific—she’d taken her time to look amazing for this—but my mouth spoke before my head.
“I see the efforts you made with the cake, and I appreciate it, but I am not very keen to eat it. Not because I do not think it will be good, but because I am not in the mood.”
The anticipation and excitement in her eyes vanished like I had squashed it.
She sighed. “This is the first time we’re seeing each other in a month. Why are you acting like this?” Apprehension laced her tone. “Did something happen?”
“No.” The sip I had taken of whiskey was enough to make me realize that I didn’t need a drink, so I put it down.
“Clearly, something is wrong.”
“What gave you that notion?”
She waved her hand as if trying to gather my aura. “This, all of this. You’re too … straight.”
I tilted my head, confused. “I am straight.”
“That’s not what I mean. You’re too bland and off—You’re acting like you don’t want me here.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
Fuck. That was supposed to stay in my head—those three words were supposed to remain in my head, not fall from my mouth because I do want her here, I do, but I just don’t want her to see me like …
this, and the way her eyes widened, looking like I had slapped her with my words, had me completely frozen on the spot.
I’d hurt her feelings.
She shook her head, looking away from me as she walked back around the counter and grabbed her purse from a kitchen stool.
“You can throw away the cake if you don’t want it or whatever you do to things you don’t want.
” With that, she made her way out of the kitchen, her footsteps getting fainter and fainter.
My common sense was working very slowly today, and it took me seconds too long to make my body move and chase after her.
She was almost at the door and out of the house when I caught onto her wrist, and she spun around, her bag swinging and getting me right in the nose.
It stung, and I held it immediately, the pain sending warmth to my eyes.
A sharp gasp left her, and she dropped the bag to the floor instantly, eyes wide. “What the fuck! Oh my God, I didn’t hear your footsteps—Are you bleeding?”
“One—one moment.”
She tried to see it, hands on my face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It was instinct, and I didn’t hear you behind me and—”
“What do you have in that bag? Christ.” I wasn’t bleeding, but it hurt more than the elbow wound.
“It was made with a bit of metal—God, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s good,” I managed out, knowing the skin around the area was already growing red. “It happens. I would have gotten hurt one way or another; it’s fairly normal.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” I removed my hand from my nose, blinking my vision clear. “Lo siento,” I apologized. “For earlier, I did not mean for you to leave … I am just—I am having a very bad day, and I did not want you to see me like that.”
Her gaze softened. “You were okay yesterday…”
“Yes, I was. But I don’t know. It happens like this … sometimes.”
She nodded. “You want to go somewhere to talk about it?”
I eyed her. “Where?”
“I may or may not have reserved a spot for us at a restaurant. For your birthday, in case you wanted to leave the house?”
The pain in my nose had subsided a little; thankfully it wasn’t serious. “You had a day planned for us?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“It’s your birthday,” she answered. “Birthdays are special, and from the looks of it, you don’t really celebrate.”
“I never have,” I confessed. “That cake on the counter is the first I have ever received. In my entire life. So, if I acted weird about it, you know why.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Well,” she said quietly.
“Now you have me to show you why having a birthday cake is normal. Most especially one made with so much…” Something swirled in her eyes, and she raised herself, pressing her lips to mine in a light kiss, before pulling away, her pretty eyes looking between mine as she completed her sentence. “So much … care.”
Somehow, I could materialize a smile from the chaos in my head.
“I rented a car. A better one this time, and you’re driving us to the restaurant; we’ll eat and talk and fill your stomach and get you back in a good mood; what do you say?”
“All right, okay, yes.”