Page 104 of Untamed

The silence that follows is thick. He doesn’t look at me. Just stares past, jaw locked, fists clenched, like letting me in might tear down something he's spent his whole life building.

“If it were me,” I whisper, “and I was hurt... would you leave me?”

He says nothing.

“You didn’t before. You were there, when I overdosed, when I broke down, when I didn’t even know I needed someone. You stayed.”

Still, silence.

“And now I’m here. I’m standing right in front of you, and I’m not asking for answers or for the truth. I’m not asking for anything but the chance to be what you were for me. Let me stay.”

His eyes finally meet mine, and this time, they don’t look away.

The fight in him falters. His shoulders sag a little, not in defeat, but exhaustion. Pain. Conflict.

I step forward slowly, reaching for the medical supplies on the table.

“Let me help clean you up.”

Ares doesn’t speak. He doesn’t stop me either. He just stands there, jaw locked, eyes burning holes into the floor like if he looks at me too long, the cracks will split open and everything he’s trying to bury will rise.

I gather gauze, antiseptic, and trembling resolve, then approach him again.

“Sit,” I say gently. I look over at my shoulder at Dante standing in the doorway. “Dante, can you get me some warm water and a clean cloth, please?” Dante looks over at Ares, who nods once and he walks off to do as I asked.

Ares hesitates, but only for a beat, before lowering himself onto the edge of the low couch behind him. He’s still not looking at me. His body is still turned partially away, shoulders rigid, like he’s waiting for something to snap inside him.

I kneel between his legs and dip the cotton pads in antiseptic so I can clean his cuts. The scent of it stings my nose. Or maybe that’s just the ache climbing up the back of my throat.

“This might sting,” I murmur.

A humourless huff escapes him. “It already does.”

My hand pauses over his shoulder, heart thudding. Slowly, I begin dabbing the dried blood around the wound, careful not to press too hard. He doesn’t flinch, but I feel it, the slight tremor in his thigh beneath my knee. The way his breath hitches.

“How did this happen?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares ahead, jaw clenches.

“It wasn’t just a fight,” I say, more to myself than him. “You were shot, weren’t you, Ares.”

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush the air between us. Dante comes back with the water and sets it on the floor beside me and leaves the room, leaving us alone.

“You scare me sometimes,” I whisper, dipping the clean cloth into the warm water ringing out the water and wiping more blood away. “But it’s not the way you think. It’s not even the violence, or the coldness. It’s the way you wear your pain like armour, how you push people out before they get close enough to see you bleed.”

His eyes shift, finally locking on mine.

“You think this is me bleeding?” he rasps. “You haven’t even seen the worst of it.”

I press the clean gauze to his side a little harder than necessary, my throat tight. “Then show me. Or stop pushing me away.”

He watches me. And in his gaze is something that both pleads and warns.

“You shouldn’t care this much,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, well it’s a little too late for that,” I breathe, not even blinking. “I already do.”

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t.

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