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On the fourth day, she opened her eyes and saw me at the foot of her bed.
Her initial reaction was to scramble against the headboard away from me, wincing from the movement and bringing the sheets up to her chin. After the first few days, I had cut off what was left of her clothes and gently put her in one of my shirts with some boxers. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t want her to wake and find herself naked and think the worse.
Beyond that, it was taking too much of my willpower not to trace my fingers along those lines of her body, trying to read the story they told and maybe hoping I could soothe the pain away. Her brow furrowed as I had put her in fresh clothes, and her fingers stretched and clenched the air as if she were trying to grab me or perhaps fight me off.
She was a vulnerable woman in a lot of pain, and it was wrong of me to have the thoughts I did.
As she sat at the headboard with her eyes wide and fearful, I felt she was trying to cover her fear. I didn’t move and hoped I wasn’t intimidating to her. Tall and lean, I had hoped by wearing a loose t-shirt, my physical appearance wouldn’t be a threat to her.
But, of course, I should’ve known she’d be frightened regardless.
“Where am I?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat, followed quickly by a grimace. I sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a glass of water. She took it slowly, staring at it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip.
“You’re in my home,” I answered. “I found you on the street, beaten to a pulp, and have been nursing you back to health.”’
“Why?”
I tilted my head and thought,what an odd question to ask.“You needed help. You were injured.”
“Why didn’t you take me home?”
“I don’t know where you live.” I stared at her. “You were barely breathing. Do you seriously think I should’ve dropped you off at your apartment, even if I knew where it was?”
“Why not take me to the hospital?”
“I’m not new here. You would’ve left the second you could.”
She stared hard at me. Every sentence was delivered as an accusation as though she was telling me off for something. I had to ask, “How did you get so badly hurt?”
If I thought her look was hard before, it was nothing compared to the way she glared at me now as though I had dared to utter some secret. I could understand her weariness of me, but the way she looked at me then, it was as if her injuries were my fault.
“It was me or her,” she said so quietly I almost missed it.
“Look—” I started, but she was already lifting herself onto one elbow.
“Okay.” She threw the sheet off her, trying to hide the wince the motion caused as I raised my eyebrows at her. “Thank you for helping me, but I need to go.”
“I think you need to stay.”
She glared at me. “Am I a prisoner?”
“Of course not, but you’re not healed.”
“I can take care of myself.”
As she shuffled her way to the edge of the bed, I simply watched her. I could’ve moved and made her stay, forced her to lie back down, and held her there. But I could see a streak of stubbornness in her eyes that ran deep in so many humans and their absolute insistence they could do something themselves, even when deep down, they knew they couldn’t.
When I stood, she stopped moving, watching me cautiously. I simply raised my eyebrows at her, and she continued to slide across the bed. When she reached the edge, the strain was visible on her face as she swung her legs over the side. She already had a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead from the effort. There was no way she’d make it to the door, let alone to her apartment.
As she stood, I was ready.
The second her back had straightened, she swayed, and in a beat, I was by her side, catching her in my arms as she collapsed. Her eyes fluttered open, and her lips parted when she saw my face so close to hers, one of my arms around her shoulder, and the other hand on her hip, steadying her against my torso.
Her smile was hollow.
“Oh, my knight in shining armor,” she muttered.
“You’re in no condition to leave. Why won’t you let me take care of you?”
