napkins and water. Since Grey Eyes always gets hurt, I stole cotton balls and the bottle Daddy uses to clean my wounds. He said an injury needs to be cleaned before it’s wrapped.
I wipe the sticky blood away with dry napkins. Blood is gross, you know. It wouldn’t go away from the skin.
A deep wound cuts along the side of his arm near his elbow.
It must’ve hurt so much.
The need to cry hits me, my nose tingles and my eyes burn, but I don’t cry. I have to be strong for him.
“It’s going to sting.” Biting my lip, I pour the liquid onto his injury.
A whimper comes from him as he watches me with half-closed eyes.
“I’m sorry it hurts. I’m so sorry.” Tears stream down my cheeks even when I tell them not to.
Just because he’s not crying shouldn’t mean he’s not hurt. I’m crying for him, not for me.
Using the cotton balls and the napkins, I wrap it around the wound as tightly as I can. Daddy said it has to be tight and clean so no nasty germs get in there.
“W-who did this to you?” I ask. “Them monsters?”
He nods once.
“I’m going to save you. I p-promise.”
His other hand wraps around my arm and tugs me down. I lie beside him, his injured hand remaining limp between us.
“Stay like this,” he whispers.
My lips tremble and my nose tingles as I stare at him and cry. I cry for what seems like forever. My tears turn into hiccoughs and then into loud sobs.
It’s ugly, snot and tears cover my face, but I can’t stop.
It hurts so much.
His thumb wipes under my eyes. “Don’t cry.”
“I can’t stop.”
“I don’t like it when you cry.” He continues gathering my tears and making them go away.
“Why?”
“Because it hurts me when you’re hurt.”
“M-me, too. That’s why I’m crying. I don’t want you hurt.”
“I’m going to be okay, Elsa.”
“Promise?”
He doesn’t answer. I jerk into a sitting position, hiccoughing and drawing involuntary breaths. “P-promise?”
“I can’t.”
“But why?” I shriek. “Does it hurt too much? I’m going to kiss it better.”
Leaning over, I place a kiss on the side of his bandage. “Daddy says it heals when you kiss it.”
He smiles. It’s weak and with no energy, but he smiles.
“You need to eat.” I rummage through my bag and bring out the sandwich.
It takes me some time to help him sit up against the wall. Once he’s settled, I wrap the blanket around him and place the sandwich between his fingers.
“You have to eat all that to get better.”
He munches slowly, not like the other days when he was so hungry, he devoured it.
I crouch in front of him, place my arms on my knees, and watch him. His injured arm lies limp beside him. The bandage around it is ugly.
“I have an idea!” I search in the bag and bring out my black marker. I was going to show him the picture of houses I’ve been drawing and ask him if he knows how to make one.
Because I told Daddy I’m going to build houses when I grow up.
Grey Eyes watches me closely but he says nothing as I grab his injured arm. Biting down my lip, I lay it on my lap and draw on the non-injured side.
Once I’m done, he studies my drawing. “What is that?”
“An arrow.”
“Why an arrow?”
“Daddy says when you feel bad, you should keep that energy inside.”
“Why inside?”
“So you can store it for later. Bad things happen for a reason.”
“Bad things happen for a reason,” he repeats, staring between the arrow and my face before a small smile breaks on his lips.
I love that smile.
I want to kiss it, not to make it better, but because I love it.
So I do just that. I lean over and press my lips to the corner of his mouth.
23
Elsa
Present
I startle awake. My hair sticks to the side of my face with sweat. Sitting in bed, I pull my knees to my chest like in that dream.
Only it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory of when Aiden got the scar on his forearm.
Raw emotions creep under my skin like creatures from the night, rough and mysterious.
The tattoos.
His arrow tattoos are inspired by what I drew back then.
He’s right. I’ve been under his skin for such a long time just like he’s been under mine.
Even though I don’t remember everything, I clearly remember that potent connection we shared in the basement.
Our story started there whether I like to admit it or not.
Back then, it was children