33. Fuck it
FUCK IT
James dropped the keys wordlessly on the counter as he opened the Airbnb’s door. Kade plopped down on the sofa, pulling his sweaty headgear off, his shirt following behind. Both items were tossed recklessly to one side. He flicked the TV on; some Call of Duty game started in the background.
Scott looked at me hesitantly before following through the doorway. He hadn’t said anything in the car ride over, and I didn’t push.
“Dude you ate all the pizza again,” James complained, grabbing a beer and tossing me one, which I passed to Kade, who flipped him off. Kade nodded his thanks, giving us both a glance before cursing and dropping the controller in frustration.
“Fucking head shot every time,” he growled.
I led Scott towards the bathroom to check him over.
“Dustin, you got him?” James asked before we disappeared down the hall.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll call Brian in the morning.” I hollered back, shuffling Scott into the bathroom.
“Wonder how many ladies are spending Christmas alone in a bar, seeing that red head makes me itch for some pussy.” Kade groaned.
“That’s the STDs, bro.” James replied.
I fumbled in my pocket for my wallet and tossed it at one of their heads.
“Ow,” I heard in response.
“Get out of here and don’t come back til dawn.” I turned to Scott, who was washing his face in the sink. “That’s an order,” I yelled.
There was some shuffling as they passed by, grabbing civilian clothes, and a moment later the front door opened and closed, bathing the house in silence once more.
“Sorry about them, they don’t know their dick from their brains,” I scratched the back of my head.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Scott said quietly. He turned to grab a towel and hissed when he extended his arm. I stepped forward, grabbing hold of his arm, and Scott jerked away. “I’m fine.”
“I was just trying to help,” I replied, shaking my head.
“Yeah well I don’t need your help, what are you even doing here anyways?” He bit back defensively.
“I’m here because I care believe it or not, I’m not a monster.” I replied, it was true. I knew he was hurting more than words could ever express, but a part of his words stung.
“Yeah sure, you always reserved that title for me,” he hissed as he pulled off my coat.
His body was littered with bruises, and the gunshot wound started bleeding again. I stepped forward, gripping his arm more forcefully.
“Your wound needs to be cleaned,” I sternly told him as he pulled against my hand.
“Don’t touch me,” he whispered. I hadn’t paid it any attention until his fist slammed into my jaw. I stepped back. “Don’t touch me,” he said again.
“Alright. How about you shower first? Then we’ll take care of the wound?” I offered.
He shrugged, but flipped the nozzle to the shower on and turned, stepping out of his pants.
I swallowed hard as I watched him. His body mass had dropped since the last time I’d seen him; you could tell he hadn’t been getting the best food consistently, but he was still well-built.
It made me pause. I inspected his body for any other wounds, or that’s what I told myself to rationalize my prolonged gaze.
He didn’t seem bothered by my looking, as if desensitized or didn’t care.
I wasn’t sure which. A knot formed in my stomach. What did they do to you?
I laid out gauze and a quick suture kit on the counter.
I pulled off my own T-shirt, tossing it in the corner as I washed up in the sink.
I began stitching my arm up with gritted teeth.
Usually, I wouldn’t stitch myself up if I didn’t have too but seeing as I sent Kade and James off somewhere to do gods knows what, I was working with myself.
I’d just finished the first pass when Scott grabbed my arm, taking the needle from my hand. He stood there wrapped in a towel, still dripping with water.
“You’re going to end up with a huge scar that way,” he said.
I hadn’t even heard him get out of the shower. He probably had watched me sike myself up for it.
“How’d you learn to do this?” I asked as he took over the stitches, making a cleaner look than I would have ever managed.
“My uncle had me fight in the rings they’d run, they’d have random weapon nights and I always managed to have a few wounds,” he shrugged as he pulled the silk tying it off. “There, it won’t scar to deeply.” I turned toward the mirror; a goofy grin crossed my face.
“Thanks, now your turn.” I said, holding up a fresh kit.
“No thanks,” he said, holding up his hands.
“You can’t leave it bleeding, How about this, every time I touch you, you can hit me? Cause like it or not I’m going to stitch your wound. So keep track cause once I’m finished it’s free rein.” I offered in compromise.
He mulled that over for a few minutes before nodding, “fine.”
He stayed absolutely silent and as still as a board until I tied off the silk. I pulled his arm, looking it over for good measure, and then stood back.
The first punch landed in my side, as if he’d been planning it for a few minutes, and I doubled over as pain shot across the wound. A few seconds later his fist slammed into the opposite rib and I coughed.
Blocking the third hit, he looked at me with surprise before I popped him in the nose. Bone hit bone as rage coiled behind his eyes.
I never said I’d take the punches without returning them.
He slammed me into the wall, fists swinging as he bared his teeth at me. I didn’t block fast enough when he landed a solid punch on my left eye.
“Fuck” I cursed. My right fist landed squarely on his jaw. His head turned, and he jerked me into the mirror. Glass smashed from the mirror as the jumbled chaos continued.
At some point, I tripped over his towel and landed squarely on my back. He strangled me, punching my ribs over and over, pinning me between the top and the counter.
I thrust upwards, flipping him over as another punch landed.
Our labored breaths mingled as the fight died down.
“Fuck you!” he yelled out in frustration as I pinned his hands above his head, trying to fight me off with his legs, but we were both out of steam
I smiled down at him, a soft chuckle coming from my lips, “Well Adams, are you done?”
“Never,” he hissed and brought his head up, slamming it into mine.
“Motherfucker,” I growled.
He just smiled through bloody teeth; a laugh finally came from him. It turned into a pained grunt, “Now I’m done.”
I got off him, clutching my rib cage and offering my hand to help them up.
“Here” I said, my hand outstretched.
I pulled him up, and we stood there. Too close, both of us leaning on each other.
Breath heavy, my heart rate still thumping alongside his, my mouth was dry, and I swallowed quickly. The time ticked by, and neither one of us moved.
I glanced down, then feeling what I thought was his thigh against my leg. My eyes snapped upward.
He didn’t notice it at first, but I did. How close our bodies were. Too close. Close enough, I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. Close enough that if I had any sense, I’d step back and create space between us.
His eyes skimmed down my chest as his tongue started out to wet his lips. I tracked the movement as I struggled to breathe. My heart raced as if the fight never ended, and my vision tunneled. I didn’t look away; neither did he.
Something caught in my throat; maybe it was a sign that there wasn’t enough time to think clearly. I didn’t want to think clearly.
His eyes flicked away for half a second, then back to mine. His lips parted slightly, waiting, wanting.
“Fuck it,” I muttered as my hand grabbed the back of his head, pulling his face towards mine.