Page 22 of Twisted Needs

I suck in a breath and shake my head. “Doctor says that’s not gonna cut it.”

He rolls his eyes, which is honestly reassuring. If he’s still annoyed by me, he’s still somewhat functioning. “You nauseous?”

“A little.”

“Need some Zofran?”

“Bruh.” He shakes his head. “Patient is going to lay down on the couch.”

I grab the cold compress from the freezer while he disappears into the living room. By the time I get there, he’s already curled up on the couch. The room is dark, but he still has one arm covering his eyes.

When I have the compress in my hand I walk over and hand it to him. He rests it against his forehead and lets out a breath. Some of the tension eases out of his shoulders, which is reassuring enough that I sit down on the floor beside the couch instead of hovering over him. I’ve learned that’s usually the sweet spot. Anders likes company when things get bad, but he hates being fussed over.

“Rogo sent me a letter.”

I lean my head back against the couch, my head brushing against his. “How the hell did he get your school address?”

“I don’t know.”

I rub a hand across my jaw. “I don’t like that he has access to you like that.”

When I turn to face him, he pales. “It’s not like he’s gonna…drive up here or anything,” Anders mutters.

“No.” I reach up and move a curl off his forehead, feeling his damp skin on my fingers. When my thumb brushes his cheek, he squeezes his eyes shut, but for some reason I don’t immediately retract my hand.

The thought skirts my mind that maybe I might be enjoying this. Taking care of him. Touching him…I know I shouldn’t, but I do.

We sit there for another minute, then he says, “You know what bothers me?”

“Talk to me.” My voice is soft, encouraging him, coaxing his worries out of him.

“I don’t know what happened.” His voice sounds smaller than usual. “I don’t even know why I care anymore. I just…” he swallows. “I hate not knowing.”

The room feels very quiet.

“He was my entire world when I was a kid.”

I’ve learned that when Anders is actually talking, interrupting him is the fastest way to make him stop. More than anything, he just needs someone to listen.

“Luca was basically a stranger. I didn’t know anybody else.”

His hand disappears into his hair. I catch his wrist before he can start yanking, the movement being automatic at this point. His fingers relax immediately, though, and settles his hand in mine.

“And the fact that the one person who was supposed to protect me was, like, the reason I needed protection in the first place…” His voice cracks a little, followed by an uneven breath. He presses his lips into a hard line and looks at me like he’s trying to restrain himself.

“What do you need?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” His eyes lift to mine, then he reaches over and presses his hand against my cheek. “Just be here, maybe.”

“Yeah.” I nod solemnly. “Always.”

“I hate feeling like this,” Anders confesses, lowering his voice as fear crosses his face. “I feel weak.”

I shake my head and frown. “You’re not. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

He nods like he’s about to say something else, but he never opens his mouth to speak. Instead, he just settles again. After a few minutes pass, his breathing finally starts slowing down.

“You should try to sleep.”