Page 71 of Drag You Down
She gets into my space and wraps her arms around me before I can react. I cry out when her hands land on my open wounds.
“Levi?” Eve recoils from me, looking down at her hands.
There’s a faint smudge of red on her fingers.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
I’m not.
I’m so far from fine.
“You’re bleeding,” she says, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me to turn. “Who did this to you? Did somebody attack you?”
I hiss in pain, shaking my head as she pulls my shirt up from the back. “No. No one attacked me.”
She wants an explanation. Maybe she even deserves one.
But I don’t know what to tell her.
Blood trickles down my back, no longer being soaked up by my shirt, and I grimace. She’s going to know that I did this to myself.
She’s going to want to know why.
“Levi!” Eve meets my gaze as I turn back around to face her, and the concern makes the guilt bubble under my skin. “I’ve been worried sick about you. You were gone for two days, and Father Zachariah said there was an outsider who’d taken you… I almost went out and walked the streets to find you. We were going to call the police today!”
I swallow hard. Father Zachariah was going to call the police?
I shouldn’t have gone with Gabriel, not even for an afternoon, not even for a night.
Especiallynot for a night.
“I got lost,” I tell her. It’s not a lie, but it feels like one. “I spent the night under… Well, that doesn’t matter.” I try to smile. “I’m back now.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Eve repeats. “Of course it matters! You’re filthy and bloody and, and…”
Tainted.
“I’m going to shower,” I say, as though that’s going to make the situation any better. “Just please…” I can’t believe I’m about to ask this of her, but I can’t think of what else to say or do. “Please don’t tell Father Zachariah. I’ll talk to him later.”
After I come up with a plausible story.
When did I start lying so much, both to myself and to others?
Eve doesn’t say anything for a while, and I shift uncomfortably.
Finally, her lips part, and a simple, quiet, “Okay,” escapes.
I should be relieved, but the guilt continues to gnaw at me. “Thank you,” I say. I force a smile. “Give me ten minutes.”
I squeeze her shoulder on my way past her, grabbing clothes to put on after my shower. Once inside the bathroom, I turn the water on and stare at myself in the mirror. She’s right; I really am filthy. Spending the night under the bridge hadn’t been a good idea, but I’d been so afraid of getting even more lost in the dark that it had felt like the only thing to do.
It had allowed me to see the world differently, too, though now I’m not sure if that’s actually a good thing.
For a few minutes, I had walked among the people I’ve scorned for so long, and I feel more empathy for them than I thought possible.
I should’ve invited them back here, where Father Zachariah could help them.
Why hadn’t I?
