Chapter 24 Rabid Fans and Skeptics #3
I unbutton my shirt without being asked as he grabs his medical kit. I brace myself, waiting for a lecture, but it doesn’t materialize. Instead, I see concern on his face.
“What exactly happened?” he asks.
I had the whole carriage ride to think about what I would say if I were asked more questions, so I have a response prepared.
“I thought I saw someone I recognized and went to find them. I know it was idiotic, and I wasn’t following Reem’s orders.
I broke a promise to him, and I’m sorry.
” My voice shakes, and I can’t make myself meet Fem’s eyes.
“Who did you think it was?” he asks, seemingly ignoring the rest of my statement.
I begin to say Bonum’s name, but catch myself and instead say, “The healer you brought here to tend to the injury on my leg.”
When I catch his eyes, I see that he’s noticed the omission, but when I don’t say anything further, he sighs and reaches out to pull back my shirt.
I hold open my shirt again as his fingers prod at my side, pulling a whimper from me at the increased pain.
“Speaking of healers…” he mutters. After a moment or two, though, he sighs again and says, “Let’s see your hand.”
I hold it out and get a look at it for the first time, noticing the angry bruising that covers it.
Fem pokes and prods at my hand and has me make a fist. It hurts, but in the end, he determines it's just bruising.
“Put that ointment on both and get some rest,” he says. “I want you in bed for the next two days. I'll check on you frequently, and if anything changes for the worse or you aren’t mostly healed up in that time, we’ll be getting a healer.”
I nod, still waiting for a lecture, but again it doesn’t materialize. I start to button my shirt, but wince as I struggle to do so with my injured hand.
He sighs and does the buttons for me. Then he opens the office door and begins to follow me to my room.
The other boys are nowhere to be seen. I’m midway across the entrance hall, heading for the hallway that leads to my bedroom, when I hear Dio’s voice and freeze.
Fem moves closer to me, but he remains quiet as I turn to Dio.
Dio is still wearing his band outfit, but he’s removed the jacket and vest and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of the crisp white shirt beneath.
Because of the open collar, I can see more of the tattoos that crawl up his collarbone to the base of his neck.
He’s rolled up the sleeves as well, his tattooed forearms on display.
I note that small, straight scars and partially healed cuts cover his forearms. Something, likely one of Malam’s memories, tells me that it is the cost of using blood for dark magic.
His hair is also mussed as though he’s continued to run his hand through it.
It’s the most rumpled I’ve seen him, and something about his appearance makes me want to lash out at him even more.
As I glare at him, standing with one hip cocked, he glares back.
I turn to walk to my room, not interested in engaging in a staring competition, but I hear him begin to speak and pause.
“I hope you understand why I’m angry,” he says. His voice is a quiet growl.
I remain where I am, still facing away from him as waves of hurt and anger crash over me. The knot of emotion in my chest tightens. I hesitate to speak because I don’t know what I’ll say if I open my mouth. Whatever words might escape, I’m confident they won’t be kind.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he finally growls, and my last shred of control snaps.
I round on him. My voice is low, quiet, and sounds like steel. A tone that sounds dangerous to me, at least. “Of course I don’t fucking understand why you’re angry.”
Who knows what he hears in the tone of my voice, but I refuse to scream at him and argue in the way I know he prefers.
Instead, I keep my tone steady as I continue, “I don’t understand anything about you, and your behavior toward me certainly isn’t making me want to get to know you.
Furthermore, none of your anger at me is logical unless somehow you see something in me that you relate to and that makes you angry at yourself. ”
My chest heaves as I glare at him. He begins to open his mouth, but I quickly say, “Taking out your self-loathing on me is the only thing that makes any sense.”
He snaps his mouth shut and glares back at me, neither of us breaking.
“You didn’t need to make this personal,” he finally snarls.
“You’re the one who made this personal,” I say. My tone is still quietly dangerous.
I see his jaw tick; he’s so still he seems to barely be breathing.
“I came out here to offer to teach you self-defense,” he finally says.
I reel at the change in topic. The ground feels unsteady under my feet. “Why would I want you, a massive prick, to teach me anything, especially when you clearly couldn’t defend yourself?” I ask, gesturing weakly at the bruise on his face.
His expression darkens, and he tenses. He takes a step forward as though he wants to strike me, and then suddenly he turns on his heel and leaves the room.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Fem says quietly behind me.
He says it softly enough that I don’t know if he intended for me to hear him. A part of me wants to ask him what part of the argument was unexpected, but instead, I heave in a breath, count to some undefined number until I feel like I can breathe again, and then proceed to my room.
Once we get through the door, Fem asks me quietly if I’ll be ok, and I nod without looking at him. After reminding me again that I’m to remain in bed and get some rest for the next two days, he leaves, shutting the door gently behind him.
I undress awkwardly, undoing as few buttons as possible and pulling the shirt over my head carefully with more whimpers as every part of my body hurts.
Now that I have a chance to see myself in the mirror, I note the deep bruising already showing on my abdomen around the healing wound.
My hand is slightly swollen and stiff with dark red bruising showing.
I’m just settling into bed when I remember Fem’s instructions about the salve. I locate it in a drawer in the small table next to my bed and carefully apply an ample amount to both new injuries.
Then I lay back in bed, close my eyes, and try to rest despite my inner turmoil. Now that I’m lying in bed, I have nothing to distract me from my anger at Dio and how he’s treating me. I also don’t like who I just became when I responded to him.
As I lay in bed with tears dripping down my temples, I’m confident it’s going to be a long two days.