Broken

• Chapter 52 •

That simple phrase makes me want to burst out into tears. My heart sinks into my stomach. I stare at him for a good minute, fighting myself on whether or not to give in. I inhale deeply and turn my back towards him.

I grasp the hems of the hoodie with shaking fingertips and roll it upward, above my head. I wince at the pain that shoots through my body. I remove my top completely, and I'm suddenly insecure about my appearance.

It's the fact that I'm bruised up that makes me uncomfortable. My toes curl, does he think it's gross? I'm scared to turn around. I pull my hair to one side and I hear him suck in air. I gulp and take a shaky breath. My head turns back to him slowly. I glance up at him quickly.

His eyes are roaming my back, it's as though someone has painted by back with hues of disgusting purples and greens. His eyes flick up to meet mine and stay there. He doesn't look disgusted, or shocked, he looks... Well, I don't really know what that look is.

I blush and quickly look away, pulling my top back on, but leaving the hoodie off. I turn to face him with my arms folded across my chest self-consciously. I don't know what to say, or what he's thinking. He just stares at me with that... Look.

He steps forward and tilts my chin up, "You're beautiful, okay?"

His words bring a shock to my entire body. What the fuck was that for? My stomach flops and I am for once, rendered speechless.

He clears his throat and shakes his head to himself, as though realizing what he has said. "Does it hurt?"

I take a deep breath in order to slow my heart beat and tuck a few rogue hair strands behind my ears. I shake my head. "It's fine. It'll get better."

I shift my gaze to his hands, his knuckles are still bruised and bloody. I tilt my head to the side, "Come with me."

I make my way to the kitchen, and he follows me without saying anything. I walk up to the sink and rinse a rag, wringing the excess water out before motioning for him to come. He stands at the door of the kitchen, a strange expression is on his face, as though he's confused.

I bite back a snort and walk up to him. I reach out for his hand, but he flinches and moves backward. I sigh and glance up to meet his eyes for a second.

"I—you need to ice that..." I mumble awkwardly.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"Hey, I'm—"

"Shut up and let me help you," I hiss.

He opens his mouth to argue and I narrow my eyes at him. He clenches his jaw and looks away stubbornly, extending his hand in frustration. I hesitantly reach out and take his hand in mine. A volt of electricity flies through my body. It's surprisingly soft. I feel him flinch at my touch.

The blood rushes to my cheeks, and it has suddenly gotten hot in here. I can feel my heart drumming in my ears, the house is deadly quiet. I gulp and it sounds like a loud coca-cola commercial. I cringe and start wiping off the blood from his hand. He glances at me but quickly turns away when I look up to meet his gaze.

I shake my head to myself and sigh loudly. Relax, Clementine. What's the matter with you? Get a grip.

I let go of his hand to find mine trembling, I frown at this and walk back to the sink to wash out the blood. I look back at him while wringing the towel out, "So where are your parents?"

He shifts uncomfortably. Secretive, are we?

I walk back to him, he extends his hand without arguing this time. I wipe off the rest of his blood as he studies my face carefully, he seems more confused than I am. I can feel his gaze burning through my skull, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to meet his eyes.

"... Your mom?"

I feel his hand grow rigid, and I'm forced to look up at his eyes now. They're inexpressive, cold, glazed over. He presses his lips into a thin line and averts his gaze, taking his hand back and clenching his jaw.

Another question I can't ask...

I huff and click my tongue in frustration, this forced relationship between us is evidently one-sided. He won't let me clean up his wounds, he won't share any personal information. Yet he gets to see me be a fucking mess.

He's so secretive about everything, and it's angering me. Even though it's not his fault. I feel vulnerable, and I hate it. How can I possibly trust him with all he knows when I know nothing about him? I walk back to the sink, doing a shitty job of hiding my anger.

Mr. Perceptive notices that I'm upset and sighs. I stare down at my reflection in the sink, hands on either side of the counter. He walks up behind me and places his hands on my hips gently, turning me around to face him. My body goes into shock.

He pulls me into a hug, wrapping his muscular arms around my waist hesitantly. It hurts anyway, but I appreciate the effort. I smile against his chest. "Will you let me take care of you, now? At least until your parents come back," he whispers.

My heart sinks, but it seems as though I have no choice. And neither does he. He knows I won't tell anyone else. Maybe he feels responsible for me. I give him a light squeeze in response. He pulls away and I'm startled to find a thousand emotions related to confusion and guilt coursing through his eyes.

I blink, and his eyes are back to normal. Maybe I had imagined it.

He rubs the back of his neck, "Grab some clothes? I'll wait in the car. I can't leave the twins alone. You'll have to stay with me."

I nod hesitantly, "Fine."

He stares at me intently for a second, nodding slightly before making his way out of the kitchen. I let out a shaky breath, "Ashton?" my voice is small.

He turns back to me and cocks his head questioningly.

"Thank you..." I breathe, "For saving my life."

He smiles softly, and my heart soars.