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Ignoring the slight against her, and me, for that matter, I nod. I’ve earned some of her wrath, and really, I don’t even notice the blood anymore. The patches where guys have lain and bled out. I sit in the metal chair and unwrap the tape from my right hand, then toss the bloody, balled heap into the waste basket in the corner, my knuckles dripping and adding their own swirled design to the stained carpet.
Mel pushes off the wall. “Shit, Boone. You’re a wreck.” She looks around, and her gaze lands on the first-aid kit near the tank. Quickly grabbing it, she marches over and kneels before me.
“Mel, you don’t have—”
“Shut it, duce.” She opens the kit and then grabs a rag near the water bucket. “This water clean?”
I nod. I’d just filled it before the fight for this specific reason. She dunks the rag and wrings it out.
When her hands take mine, she’s not hesitant or wary. Blood doesn’t seem to make her squeamish, despite her initial repulsion toward this room. Or maybe that was toward me—but it’s like she’s done this before. She’s sure, but also gentle. My throat thickens as she wipes away the blood, delicately, tenderly. Then, as she looks up, her gaze meets mine.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers. I do, and feel the cool cloth smooth over my brow, cleaning the cut above my eye. It stings, but that small pain is dull compared to the sharp, rising ache in my chest at the feel of her soft hands as she holds my head in place to examine the damage. She wipes my cheeks, my jaw. Then my lips. I open my eyes.
She pauses, and I watch as her throat bobs with a hard swallow. She blinks and lays the rag aside. Then gathers the bandage. “Is it for the money?”
“Yes,” I answer, readjusting my position so she can wrap my knuckles. “And no.”
A heavy sigh escapes her pursed lips. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But—”
“Wait.” Suddenly—and it may be because I’m dazed from the fight but—I want her to know everything. Except I don’t want to go through the process of having to actually tell her. I just want her to already know. She’s still on her knees before me, looking up at me with those deep brown eyes, waiting.
“Addicts have to replace using with something else,” I finally say. Her eyebrows hike. “For me, it’s all about balance.”
She shakes her head and mock laughs once. “Don’t start this shit, dude. Honestly. Not after what I saw you do out there. Just…don’t.” Her eyes level me with a knowing glare.
I push back in the chair, press my freshly bandaged palms to my thighs. Meet her gaze, and decide it’s time to let someone—partially—in. It might as well be Mel. “I lost someone. And it was my fault.”
Mel’s features fall, and she swipes at a loose strand of hair near her eye. “You know it was your fault for sure, or you just feel guilty?”
“I know. Because had I been there, he never would have died. I was selfish, thinking only about getting my fix and…” I don’t really know how to explain the rest, so I leave it at that. “I was pretty damn selfish. But this—” I motion around the room, indicating the brawl “—is how I atone. It makes me feel, even if the only thing to feel is pain. It’s the only thing I deserve. I’m alive, I’m here, and he’s not.”
Before Melody is able to process my words, I lean forward and snag her tank strap. She pulls back at first, caught off guard. But I don’t let her get away. I pull the strap and her toward me, then push it slowly aside, revealing her tattoo. I skim my thumb over her flesh, along the word pain.
“From pain comes strength,” I say. “You understand a little of what I’m saying.”
She licks her lips, her eyes flick to my face. “I’m not saying that I don’t, Boone. But how is getting beaten to a bloody pulp atoning for anything?”
Still caressing her skin, I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know. But it feels right. And it keeps me sober. Isn’t that enough?”
We lock eyes. Stay in this close position for what feels like an eternity. I’m scared to move, scared that once I release her she’ll walk out that door and I’ll never find her again. Then I’ll never find this feeling again, the one that makes it almost okay to want to exist.
Her lips part, but before she’s able to voice anything, a beep breaks the silence of the room. She blinks and looks down, then snakes her phone from her pocket. I’m still holding on, to her and this moment, as she types something on the screen.
“I need to go,” she says, looking up.
“Right.” My hand pulls back. I run it through my sweaty hair. “You came here with people, not alone, right?”
She nods.
“Good. Not that I think you can’t take care of yourself, but there’s some pretty shady people here.”
She cranes an eyebrow. “Really?”
A smile twitches at my lips. “I deserve that.”
Before she’s on her feet, I snag the phone from her hand. I quickly enter my number, and in a couple seconds, my own cell rings from my pack. “Now I have your number.”
I look up to gauge how much I just pissed her off, and the door swings open. A guy in a black leather vest and tats covering his arms enters. He sees Mel, then he sees me. His attention turns back to Mel.
