Page 13 of Served
Jason reached his hand out to me, so I grabbed it and I felt more tension leave my shoulders. I stopped briefly and reached down for my bag before we walked out of the greenroom. The club was already dark. Jaz must have left. I hope she didn’t encounter that asshole. We walked out the front door and Jason locked it without letting go of my hand.
We walked quietly, hand in hand, all the way to my apartment. It was warm outside but the usual breeze that swirled on the sidewalk in the late hours of night was kicking up. It was dark besides the streetlights. My mind was full of things to say to Jason, but I had no idea how. I kept my head down the whole way, constantly looking at our hands intertwined with his long sleeve shirt over my arm. I liked the way my hand fit into his. I liked how his hand felt wrapped around mine. It was like those two hands were made for each other. And a warmth was flowing up my arm from his hand. When we got to the front of my complex, he loosened his grip to let go of my hand, but I squeezed his, not ready for the disconnect from him.
I was still looking down, holding his hand. “I just don’t want to be alone right now,” I sighed but tried to lessen the weight of what I just said, “and I know Amy isn’t home yet.” Jason nodded and without a word he walked in with me, and his grip tightened back over my hand creating a tingling sensation all the way through my chest and stomach.
As we approached my door and I pulled out my keys, he reached over and shook the handle. I still hadn’t looked up but the fact that he checked my door made me smile, even if it didn’t register on my face. I unlocked the door and we walked inside. It was dark and quiet. I turned on the kitchen light as I led us both to grab some water and dropped my bag on the counter. He didn’t loosen his grip even after I started pulling cups from the cabinet. We stayed connected making ice water then went to sit on the sofa.
I sat, careful not to spill my water then pulled my legs up onto the sofa bent in front of me and he sat next to me, but not right up against me. In fact, the distance was awkward since we still had each other’s hand. I leaned my head back, happy to be in the safety of my apartment, and he gasped and shifted his weight closer.
“Shit, we need to get you to a hospital,” he said as he put his water down on the coffee table and moved in closer. I sat up straighter and looked over at him, unsure of what he was making a fuss about when I saw his face. I instinctively started to reach my hand to him when I realized I needed to put my water down. I was still not willing to release the grip on his other hand. After I placed my water on the table, I reached my hand to his face, and he pulled back.
“I’m fine, but you need to be checked out,” he said in a grumbly voice.
I shook my head. “You have a gash on your cheek, Jason, among other things.” I put my hand to his face again and he flinched but didn’t pull away this time. When my hand touched his face, his eyes closed, and I thought I hurt him.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. We need to get you some ice or something and clean that up.”
He gently tugged on my arm as I stood. “No, that’s not it. It’s-never mind. We need to get you taken care of, Lucy.” He stood and reached his arm out to me slowly and his brow furrowed again, and his lips were pursed. He must have been in pain but too proud to admit it. He softly pressed on my neck, and I felt a tinge of pain, but it was nothing some ibuprofen wouldn’t fix.
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. I just want to forget it happened. But we need to get your face cleaned up.” I put my hand to his face again trying to gently assess the damage and his eyes closed again. “See, it’s ok to tell me it hurts. I won’t tell anyone big bad Jason has a pain sensor.” He opened his dark eyes and stared straight into my soul.
He softly grazed his hand up the length of my arm until he met my hand against his face. A sharp shot of electricity went from my fingertips, into my arm, and across my chest that made my heart pound.
His voice was low as his eyes met mine, “Lucy, the cut doesn’t hurt. It’s you.”
I didn’t move a muscle as I stared back into those dark serious eyes looking down at me, but my heart was beating so fast my pulse was visible in my wrist and I felt like the artery in my neck was about to burst. I tried my best to remember how but breathing escaped for me a minute. Breathing seemed important. I was studying his face when I noticed my hands and found my breath, audibly sucking in air.
There was more than blood under my nails and my hand looked like a feral cat got me. I started shaking uncontrollably, and Jason went to step back but I shook my head and tugged on his arm. He wrapped one arm around me, still not letting go of the hand he held all the way here, pulling it up close to his chest.
His chest was firm but soft at the same time, and warm. Tears were quietly streaming down my face, and he continued to hold me, occasionally giving me a, “shh, shh, shh,” as he did. His warmth and soft words slowly calmed my nerves. Once I felt the tears stop and my body stopped shaking, I leaned back enough to use my free hand to wipe my face, which mostly likely now resembled a member of Kiss.
“I need to go clean up,” I whispered under my breath, still leaned against him.
He leaned back to look at me and tilted my head up to him, “Lucy, I don’t want to push you or sound harsh, but if you do that, you’ll wash away evidence. Are you sure you don’t want to just make the call? And you really need to be checked out.”
I shook my head again. I absolutely did not want to call the police or go to the hospital. He wouldn’t understand.
“I don’t. So just walk with me, please.” I led him to my room so we could go to my bathroom and wash my hands. I flipped the light on in the bathroom and realized why he was pushing when I saw myself in the mirror.
I didn’t even remember it happening, but there was a bruise forming in the shape of a large handprint on my throat and several little scratches and cuts on my face. He was behind me, still holding my hand, with the same scrunched up face as a minute ago. But he was looking at me in the mirror. Emotions were running through me like wildfire. All the emotions at once.
Anger filled me as I investigated every cut, bruise, and tender spot on my body. Shame washed over me. Sadness that he looked so pained, and I still didn’t understand why. But yet, some huge amount of comfort blanketed me as I stood, still connected to Jason, knowing he was behind me. I turned the faucet on and pumped soap onto my free hand and I felt him start to let go again but I pulled his hand to the sink, still not ready to let go.
As I lathered all three hands, I saw his knuckles bruised with little cuts. I gently rubbed over them and I noticed in the mirror he had closed his eyes again, but I also saw his jaw clenched tightly. I pulled the hand towel off the rack and dried our hands before I ran it under the water to dab on my cuts. I remembered having a first aid kit, so I reached under the sink to grab it. As I did, it hit me that my short skirt was still on, and he was standing right behind me. But when I looked up, he was looking at the wall.
“I need to clean up that gash, it could probably even use stitches,” I told him as I used one hand to open the kit.
“No, no stitches on that, maybe some butterfly tape. I can do it. Either way, I don’t think either of us will with one hand.” He said it gently, but matter-of-factly.
I nodded my head slowly, he was right. I couldn’t drag him around like this forever. And he wasn’t leaving. I loosened my hand and he dragged out the process of letting go, sending chill bumps over both arms. I had never been so happy to be wearing long sleeves. I reached into the kit and grabbed the cleanser towelettes, gauze, antibacterial ointment, and butterfly bandages.
I opened a towelette and gently dabbed it over the huge cut on his cheekbone. He winced a little but not like when it was skin to skin.
“Just let me know if it hurts, but I need to clean you up. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
He nodded, tight-lipped as I continued.
I worked slowly, not wanting to hurt him and the cut looked terrible. I also couldn’t get over the huge bruise that was gaining more and more color around his eye and under the cut as I cleaned him up. He had his eyes closed most of the time I worked on the cut, but I occasionally caught him glancing down at me. His eyes were almost black, his pupils hiding the golden flecks. I eventually finished up after putting three butterflies over the cut. He looked in the mirror and nodded in approval of my work. I grabbed his hand, but to look at the damage there.
