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I held her up, held her close.
Blood rushed from the wound, and I pulled the bottom ribbing of my hoodie off and tied it around the wound before creating a small distance between us that instantly made me colder. I pulled off my sweatshirt and placed it over her head. With careful hands, I guided her arms into the sleeves. She winced a little as I lifted the right one, her new injury causing pain.
“And then I went missing?” she continued the conversation and fed the distraction, staying away from her pain by implanting a false memory.
The tattoos on my body helped with that, too, as she wondered what the dozens of teddy bears filling my arms meant.
I let it happen, let her lead the conversation, because I figured she could have the future she deserved if she wasn’t hung up on the past.
“You were taken from me. Sold.”
She lowered her head and said something I didn’t catch.
“Look at me, Cat. I can’t hear you.” My ears were getting worse by the second, the world hushing around me.
She followed my instructions, her gaze and fingers wandering to my ear and the aid that barely assisted me. Because that fucker back at the house had definitely damaged it.
Her touch was gentle…caring.
“I don’t remember you. All our happy memories are gone from my head.”
I didn’t tell her none lived in my head, either, because all our memories were wretched things and were the reason I hated sleeping at night and lived on fucking coffee to prevent any early nights.
“I don’t remember me.” Her hands tugged the bottom of my hoodie as she tried to pull it down. Her fingers fell straight through a rip in the fabric and the wet stain surrounding it.
Bringing her hand to her face, she breathed in the scent of my blood, covering three of her fingers. “You’re hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t believe me. She ignored every twang that tortured her body and reached for me. Those gentle red fingers lifted my shirt, and the color drained from her face.
The gash piercing through my skin and whatever fucking organ it was that made me bleed so damn much. It set her on edge.
“You’re hurt,” she repeated. “Were you stabbed?”
“I’m good. You should see the other guy.” I laughed.
Her face dropped, not feeling the same level of amusement I did—not feeling any amusement.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“With judgement. I did it for you. Do you not like having a man who loves you so much he’d kill for you?”
She ignored my declaration, and it hurt just as much as the last time she did it. You’d think, in eleven years, I’d have developed a thicker skin.
You’d think I wouldn’t have fallen back in love with her, head over fucking ass, within a few fucking minutes.
But I was obsessed again, or maybe my obsession never ended.
Unable to think of anything but her and everything we could have if we made it out of here.
We would make it out of here.
“This is bad.” Shaking fingers tried to push my skin together as a loud bang shot through the air.
Her concern for me was nice, almost soothing, given the fact she just emotionally gut-punched me so close to my bleeding wound, but it was quickly pushed aside—by me—as I pulled her close again.
