Page 101 of Endless Anger
“Feels like we’re sixteen again,” he murmurs. “Do you remember the first time you cleaned blood off me?”
“We weren’t sixteen. We weresix.”
“Ah, that’s right. You were trying to catch that feral dog, and when you couldn’t, you came to ask me for help.” His mouth twitches. “I had to get twelve stitches in my hand after it attacked me.”
“Well, I tried to tell you to approach it slowly, but you lack patience.”
“You’re one to talk.”
Swallowing, I ignore the comment and continue with my task.
He turns his head, and I feel him looking down at me. “You don’t miss it? Being young and carefree?”
I miss you.“What was carefree about being ostracized and neglected at school or during extracurricular activities?”
“You weren’t ostracized,” he says. “You had me.”
He doesn’t mention Aurora, or Foxe, or my siblings. Just himself.
My eyes burn. “And that was supposed to be enough?”
“It was for me.”
“Don’t, Asher. You can’t rewrite history when I was there. Iwasn’tenough for you.” Emotion clogs my throat, and I withdraw to wet more towels. “That’s why I came and forged a path at college all on my own. Not because I wanted to, but because there was no other choice.”
“Does Aurora know how invisible she is to you?”
“Aurora never promised to stay by my—” Gritting my teeth until a sharp pain shoots through each root, I stop myself. “You know what? I’m not doing this with you. Nothing in our past even matters now. I came to Avernia to forget about you and all the other bullshit.”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much better in the present though.”
This part, he says quietly, and I wonder if it’s to soften the blow. But the jab lands anyway, right in the center of my aching chest.
“Yeah, well,” I reply, pushing against his wound with more force, “some things just don’t change, do they?”
We fall silent, and I pull the towel away, exhaling when I see the bleeding has slowed down.
Tossing the soiled paper into the trash, I put my hands on my wet hips, watching as he inspects the cut in the mirror. “You might need stitches again.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He points at a first aid kit on a sink, then pulls the top open, grabbing a handful of gauze.
My stomach tenses, flipping as he rips open the first packet with his teeth. Twisting, he tries to get a good angle, but the laceration is far enough back on his side that he can’t seem to reach it well.
Rolling my eyes, I suck on the inside of my cheek and push his hands out of the way once more, lifting the hem of his jacket and sweater.
I keep going, exposing his toned abdomen and the lean muscle lacing his back, and he lets out a strange noise.
“Are you undressing me, pup?”
“Shut up and take your shirt off.”
He quickly obeys, shrugging out of the clothes and letting them fall to the floor.
My heart thumps a staccato rhythm, beating hard against my ribs, as I take the gauze from him. Holding up the roll of medical tape, I stretch out the length for what I need and raise it to his mouth.
Leaning forward, Asher pulls back his lips, baring his teeth, and bites through the tape.
Slowly, the piece tears in two.
