Page 201 of Chaos

“You okay?”

“Think I’m supposed to ask you that.”

“I will be.” Finn pats the empty space by his hip, another gentle command that I’m just as wary to obey. But I do, I cross the room on wobbly legs, I sit gingerly on the edge of his bed, practically hovering until a firm hand on my thigh pushes me the rest of the way down. “Much better.”

Not for me. This is worse, so much worse. Because Finn winces as I sit, as he shifts to make more room for me, and guilt surges like a tidal wave. It manifests as physical pain, making my stomach hurt, my head hurt, my cheek hurt when a hand cups it gently, a thumb swiping a tear that’s finally started to leak. “No tears, baby.”

I sniff and shake his hand off. “I’m so sorry.”

He rebounds like a damn yo-yo, two hands on two cheeks now, two thumbs wiping away twin salty streams. “Stop that.”

I grip his wrists, torn between pushing him off or pulling him closer, but I don’t get to do either. I don’t have time. Finn tugs me down until my forehead is flush against his, until gentle shushing brushes my lips before his lips do, and then they travelupwards, kissing the wet, dark circles beneath my eyes, lingering over the bruise on my cheekbone that I’ve barely spared a second thought until now.

“You’re okay,” he tells me, oblivious to the fact I don’t care about that,I’mthe least of my worries.

I open my mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a sob.

Finn swears. A hand drops to my thigh, hiking it higher on the bed.

I should protest. I don’t want to hurt him anymore than I already have. But I’m weak and I’m selfish and I can’t resist curling up beside him at his urging, curled up on my side with my dirty boots hanging off the edge of the bed.

Rougher than I should be, I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling the solid thump of his heart.

Gentler than I deserve, Finn curls his fingers around mine, bringing our hands up to kiss my knuckles. His other hand, he drags down my other arm, my injured arm, and as much as I try to hide a flinch when he grazes my wounds, I don’t think I do a very good job. Or maybe I do, but he’s just watching me that intently—he couldn’t possibly miss it.

He pauses. A disgruntled noise rumbles in his throat, like he knows what he’s going to find before he even peels my flannel away. “Jesus, baby.”

I don’t look. I know exactly what he sees. Dried blood and angry, blistered skin. I gaped at it the same way he does now for what felt like hours earlier before covering it up, pretending it didn’t exist, deciding I deserved the ache.

Finn disagrees. He clucks his tongue, his pulse throbbing an angry beat as he reaches for the call button beside his bed. I don’t even try to protest. I’ll do whatever he wants. I’ll let the nurse that bustles into the room, the same one as before, tend to my wounds if it makes him stop scowling—I do, and it does.

The moment she leaves, casting a warning glance over my shoulder, but not objecting to my presence, Finn tugs me to his side again. Mouth to my temple, he murmurs, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I don’t answer. I don’t think I need to—I think he knows exactly why I let my injuries fester, why I would’ve let my damn arm rot off, if he hadn’t noticed my pain.

His soft sigh reeks of disappointment. It makes my eyes sting so I squeeze them shut, huddling deeper into the crook of his neck, hiding.

“Is anything else hurt?”

The Applesauce-sized hoofprint stamped across my abs ache. My trampled fingers won’t be writing essays any time soon. But none of my physical ailments compare to the agony burrowed deep.

Soothed only by the undeniable thump of a very alive heart beneath my palm.

Low voices wake me up.

As if the sneaky, nosy part of me prevails even in sleep, I don’t open my eyes right away. I don’t move a muscle. I keep my breathing even and slow.

It’s not like I’m eavesdropping. It’s not like they don’t know I’m in the room, in the arms of one of the people talking. I’m not an active participant in the conversation, but I am a part of it—they are, after all, talking about me.

“She’s very pretty,” I recognize Mrs. Akello’s voice, and I wonder how much it cost her to pay me that quiet compliment.

From Finn’s tongue, another flows easily. “She’s beautiful.”

His mother sighs. “Have you told her?”

“That she’s beautiful?” A mouth brushes my temple, and I feel its upward curve. “She knows.”

Another exasperated exhale. “The other thing, Finn.”

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