Page 102 of Endless Anger
A pulse awakens between my legs, and I do my best to suppress the tremor that wrecks my fingers.
I bring my hands to his side again, patching him up the way I’ve done hundreds of times before. The only difference is that now we know what the other looks like when we come.
“You gonna tell me what really happened?” I ask, pressing the last piece of tape to the edge of the bandage.
His shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Ever start a fight and realize too late that you’re the only one without a weapon?”
Scoffing, I bring my eyes to his. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”
“Except with me.”
“Well, that’s different. I was always safe with you.”
The words come out before I can stop them or fully weigh their meaning. Heat scalds my face, inching down my neck and blooming bright in the center of my stomach like a field of daisies.
One of the sink faucets drips slowly. Asher doesn’t reply, and I step back, taking a second to check my handiwork. I smooth my fingers over the gauze before I realize what I’m doing.
Asher’s breath hitches, and mine seems to get caught in my throat.
Clearing it, I let my hand fall. “I find it hard to believe Foxe would stab you.”
“Not Foxe.” He moves closer to the sink, turning his ear to inspect the piercings there and then his nose ring. “Some Curator trash.”
Hearing him talk about the Curators like that makes my heart skip a beat. Somewhere, deep down, I hope it was Beckett. “Why are you fighting with Curators?”
He shrugs. “Seems like some of them need a little humility.”
“But they stabbed you.”
“Barely even a graze.”
I push my index finger into the gauze, watching blood swarm to soak the spot. Asher hisses through clenched teeth, whipping around and grabbing my wrist, yanking me into him.
“It won’t stop hurting if you keep poking it.”
My chin lifts. “Maybe I don’t want it to stop hurting.”
His chest heaves, his grip on me ironclad. I wouldn’t be able to get away right now even if I wanted to, and it takes several seconds of silent self-reflection for me to admit that Idon’twant to.
Despite my anger and loneliness.
Right here, in Asher’s orbit, it’s warm.
Safe.
I’d stay forever if it didn’t mean forgiving him for things he hasn’t apologized for.
Still, he doesn’t release me, and I don’t try to get away.
“You’re gonna be late for your date,” he sneers, his gaze growing angry.
“How do you even know about that?”
“When it comes to you, I do my research.”
“Is that why you’re here? To keep me from going?”
Sighing, he drags me in front of him, turning on the sink until steam rises from the flowing water. He fiddles with the cold handle, as if looking for a balance, and then pushes my hips into the sink.
