Page 54 of Worshiping Faith

It’s the reaction of a man who hasn’t been safe a single day in his life.

And that? That, I can work with.

Jinx’s hands tremble when I move closer.

The dull overhead bulb casts harsh, uneven shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his hollowed-out cheeks, thedark smudges beneath his eyes. The kind of look that only comes from too many nights on too many drugs.

Even sitting still, he twitches, small involuntary movements running through him like his body can’t decide if it wants to shut down or shatter apart.

He looks like brittle glass. Fragile and too sharp to touch.

I swallow hard. This isn’t going to be easy. Not for him. Not for me.

I move slowly, reaching for the cuffs, careful not to startle him. Unclipping them one by one, I keep my movements measured.

The restraints fall away, and his arms drop to his sides with a dull, lifeless thud.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But his breathing changes. Shallow, unsteady, like he’s bracing for something even though I haven’t touched him yet.

His eyes never leave mine.

“Okay,” I murmur, keeping my voice as steady as I can, even though my stomach is wound into a tight, anxious knot. “We’re going to get this taken care of.”

His shoulders are so rigid that, for a second, I think he might resist. But when I press my fingers lightly against him, guiding him back onto the cot, he goes without a fight.

Like the weight of his exhaustion is finally pulling him down. Like he’s been carrying the whole world, and it’s just too fucking heavy.

I take a moment, just watching him.

His skin is too pale. The hollows under his eyes look bruised. His ribs jut out beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his body nothing but sharp angles, like he’s been carved down to the bone. He looks like a man who has never known comfort.

And then there’s the bite.

The wound gapes at me, torn skin still raw, seeping dark blood.

My stomach clenches.

It’s already infected.

If I don’t do this right…

I push that thought down and grab the saline. My fingers shake just a little, but I force them steady.

Jinx doesn’t look at what I’m doing. His eyes are elsewhere. Somewhere I can’t follow.

I pour the saline, keeping my touch as gentle as possible.

The second the liquid hits the wound, his entire body jerks.

His muscles go rigid. His fingers twitch. His jaw locks so tight I hear the faint grind of his teeth. But he doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t pull away. The pain rolls through him, but he takes it.

“Sorry,” I whisper. It’s barely a breath, too soft to mean anything, but I say it anyway.

I keep going, wiping away the blood that mixes with the saline, dark and thick. Not enough.

I grab the gauze, pressing carefully, watching him. Waiting for a crack.

Jinx’s hand trembles at his side, fingers twitching like he’s about to grab me. He doesn’t. But I see the war in his eyes. The addict, trying to hold it together. The man who has never had a reason to trust anyone, especially not someone like me.

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