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I don’t even think he can, because just look at him.
Look at his jaw. It’s tightly clenched.
So tightly that I can see the muscle on his battered cheek standing taut.
Vibrating too, as if he’s gritting his teeth.
It’s because of the pain, isn’t it?
He’s in pain.
He’s inso much pain.
How the hell did he manage to catch me back there? How the hell did he ride his bike here?
No, actually how the hell is he even standing up?
“You… I don’t… What…happened?”
He offers me something. “Wear this.”
It’s the helmet.
But I ignore it.
Because now that I know he looks like that, his voice sounds pained as well, and I keep pushing. “What happened to you? I-I mean, you were fine when I last saw you. You only had that one bruise and —”
I stop talking when he steps up to me and puts the helmet on my head himself. But before he can begin to buckle the strap, I grab his wrists.
“Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”
He grits his teeth again. “Why?”
“Because,” I flex my fingers, noticing a gash-like wound on his cheek that’s now stitched up, but still. “You look like… You look like death. You look like you’re in pain.”
“And?”
“And this is much worse than the bruise on your jaw the other night. This is… How could this have happened? What… What did youdo?”
Jesus.
He got in a fight, didn’t he?
Although in all the years that I’ve seen him get into fights, he’s never looked like this. He’s never looked so ravaged. I can’t even imagine what he must’ve done for someone to beat him up like this.
I can’t…
And God, I’m so… mad.
I’m so freakingmadat this unknown person. I’m so angry and…
“You worried about me?” he asks, his voice pure gravel right now.
Breaking into my, yes,worriedthoughts.
And the fact that he can read me so easily makes me say, “What, no.”
His gaze roves over my upturned face and I try to school my features.
