too young for this

chapter 7 | we ran

Jamie takes me to the washroom, hiding me from the others, as for them not to see me as a mess.
I let him guide me by the arm, biting my tongue. My breaths still come out staggered and noisy. Luckily, they drown in the blaring music.

He closes the door behind us once we're inside. Raking an uneasy hand through his hair, he studies me, and drags his bottom lip between his teeth. I just look down.

Then, he turns on the sink tap, eyes flickering back at me. "Can you sit on the counter?" He says, "I need to clean you up."

I nod, moving to sit up onto it. I struggle to push my butt onto it with my left hand. He helped by nudging me further until the back of my head touched the wall. I watch as he takes my cut up hand in his. I swallow back the pain.

He looks at me, whispering, "I have to take them out."

I nod, grimacing, "Mhm."

He pinches a shard in his fingers, removing it slowly.

I let out a choked groan, biting my tongue hard. I tilt my head back, unable to watch what he's doing.
He winces and grabs a hold of another splinter.

I make eye contact with him hurriedly, pleading him with my eyes. "Talk to me. Please."

A line appeared between his brows, "I have a cat named Aslan. Like the lion from Narnia even though she's a girl. When we got her, we thought she was a—" He removes the glass briefly, continuing to speak as a cry rips through my throat. "male. I got her when I was five. My dad got her when my mom left, as if to replace her. Um...my best friend from my childhood was named Lucas. Him and I used to pretend to be knights and jabb each other with sticks. I have a scar on my hip from the time he stabbed me too hard with the sharp end of his stick. There was blood everywhere. He was so sorry."
He removes another and this time I only let out a sob. "It's shaped like a check mark. Maybe," He takes another out. "you could see it one day." He finishes with a hushed laugh, I almost couldn't hear him over my ragged breathing.

I watch him, biting my lips in a pained smile. "You wish." I manage, wiping the tears from my face with my clean hand.

He puts my right hand under the streaming water. "Ow—!" I say, grabbing his arm with my free hand. I dig my nails into his skin, squinting the tears from my eyes. "Owww..."

When he's done running it under the water he opens the cabinet, searching for something. He tilts his head looking back at me, "They have no rubbing alcohol."
Part of me is glad about this fact. Cleaning your wounds with the liquid hurts like hell.

I shrug, studying my injury. Blood flows from it, spilling like an endless waterfall. I move it slightly, and when Jamie's attention is drawn to it, he curses, running it under the water again, for only a second this time. I stiffen, as he puts pressure on it with his palm. It stings at first, then subsides to a mere pinch.

He scrambles to rip his white tee-shirt from underneath his jacket. I help him with my left hand to hold the fabric steady. My finger's brush the warm skin of his stomach and he flinches away at the contact. His big eyes meet mine, and I look down again.

He wraps my hand snuggly with the fabric, tucking the rest into it. He let's go of my hand and I carefully manage to wiggle my fingers.
Then, he gently begins to clean my other hand under the water. His fingers drift mindlessly across my skin, ridding it of any crusted blood.

He moves onto my face, hesitating before taking my chin in his hand. He wets a small towel with water and touches it to my cheeks and nose and forehead. He wipes the grime away with light strokes, and shivers surged through my spine at the touch. His eyes keep taking short, guilty glances at mine and mine are fixed on his.