Accidentally Kidnapped

Chapter 21

        Sitting on the bed, I watched Cage unwrap the bandages from his hand to reveal a nasty pink scar, the one caused by my Swiss army knife when he went to dispose of my car. As much as Cage deserved it, I couldn't help the small trickle of guilt. Not only because of his hand, but also because of what I did outside.

        Cage hadn't said a word to me after that.

        To avoid Cage, I spent the last thirty minutes walking through the cabin. There were five rooms in all. Micheal, Nick, and Heath had all been here before and it was like home to them. And by home, I meant clothes everywhere, bullets laying around, and food wrappers scattered on the carpet. Nick's room was the messiest. Unsurprisingly, Heath's room was the cleanest.

        The master bedroom, which I came to believe was where Cage slept, was enormous. Two double doors led to a balcony covered in snow. The bed had black silk sheets that I kept slipping off of and a bedside table with a laptop charging and oh, of course, his gun laying on top of it casually. The walls were cherry wood and the carpet was a furry green.

        He was standing beside a table with scissors and gauze upon it. Tearing a large piece off, Cage began to wrap it very incorrectly on his cut hand. Normally I wouldn't have said anything but I was desperate to break the silence that shrouded the bedroom and another part of me really just wanted to make sure that his hand healed. I don't know why I wanted that. I suppose it was because Cage fixed my ankle so I should return the favour.

        "You need to put alcohol and antibacterial cream on that." I forced myself to speak to Cage. He didn't look up but he did stop wrapping the bandages. The scissors clattered to the table.

        "No need." Cage mumbled. His offhand reply did sting a bit, I'll admit.

        "It's not going to heal any quicker by just wrapping unmedicated gauze on your hand, Cage." I sighed, standing up. Outside, the snow came down harder. Walking across the room, I went to him and grabbed the spool of gauze before he could. It was obvious that Cage wasn't going to listen to anything I said. He was such a child at times, I felt frustrated. At everything. This was too complicated.

        "November." His eyes hardened. "I don't need your fucking help-"

        "Your hand is going to get infected, Cage!" A bubble of panic rose in my throat. Why did I want to help him so desperately? "This-" I pointed to the scar angrily ''-is dangerous. I don't care if you hate me or if I hate you. I'm going to help you. It's not going to get any better until you kill the bacteria. You can't just wrap bandages over your hand and say it's fine, genius."

        "It's fine, look." Cage wiggled his fingers at me. The cut ran the length of his entire palm and when he bent his hand, a few drops of blood seeped out. The skin around the slice was a blistered pale white and puckered up. Cage's palm was turning a light purple and he still had the audacity to say it was fine. When Cage said he didn't know what to do with me, I didn't realize the feeling would be mutual. 

        "You're disgusting." Annoyed, I grabbed his fingers and pulled his hand down to a height that I could see. Since it was already getting dark outside, Cage snapped the table light on. "Get the alcohol and some Neosporin, if you have it."

        Making a face, Cage obediently left the room to get them. He returned a moment later, holding a bottle.

        "Not whiskey, Cage! Cleaning alcohol."

        I sighed as he left again. A moment later, Cage poked his head from one side of the doorway. "I can't find that Neosporin. I checked the medicine cabinet...I don't even know what it looks like. But then I was like, November's so nice to help me, I should probably do something for her. So I got you a rock." He walked inside the room, shut the door, walked across the floor, and handed me a rock. Literally, a rock. Like the kind you'd find outside. A rock. It was small and pale grey and I had no idea what to do with it.