Untouchable

Chapter 5: Complication

Chapter Five: Complication

I woke up on the floor.

Again.

This was becoming ridiculous.

There was a crowd of faces leaning over me, like one of those movie shots of a sports huddle from below. It certainly wasn't as cool in real life.

I pulled myself up. I need to invest in body padding. Or a helmet.

I found Will's eyes in the sea of faces. He looked concerned and guilty. I understood why he might have been concerned. His lab partner passed out again. You'd have to be inhuman not to be concerned.

But guilty? That I didn't get.

Mr. Pykare pushed through the huddle, and reached down to help me up.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped. He pulled back like I had burned him. I hid my face in shame. I'd fainted in class—from being touched—and then I shouted at the teacher trying to help me. I fail at life.

"Cate. Are you alright?" I nodded. "Can you get up?" I nodded again, and pushed myself up with a grimace. There would be bruises tomorrow.

As nonchalantly as possible I placed my hand on my belly, making sure I had not been bruised there. That I can't bruise—I must protect it at all times, at all costs.

Will finally inched his way towards me, gently offering his hand. I caught his eyes, grabbing his hand with relief. He breathed out deeply, as if he had been waiting for something bad to happen. Again.

He looked at Mr. Pykare. "I'm going to take Cate to the nurse." His voice was delicious, spicy and soothing at the same time. I'd been starving to hear that voice. Keep speaking.

Mr. Pykare nodded, turning to write a pass.

Letting go of my hand, Will quickly packed up our stuff, obviously not planning to come back for the duration of the period.

Placing both of our bags on his left shoulder, he offered me his right arm. I fell into it, relishing the safety I felt next to him.

I didn't understand why he didn't send me into a fit. I trusted Jack. I trusted my father. But neither of them could touch me. And yet Will could.

He gently led me out of class, and towards the nurse's office in silence. I glanced up at his face. He seemed deep in thought. I could almost here him thinking he was doing it so hard.

I tugged on his shirt signaling him to stop. "Why won't you speak to me?"

He let go of me to nervously run his fingers through is hair, making it stick up in all directions. He started to lead me again down the hall, without answering my question, without speaking at all.

I huffed, and stopped, refusing to go any further. "Why?" I asked again. He was starting to piss me off.

"Because—" His voice made me want to melt. "I don't understand this." Huh?

"You, uh, what?" Huh?

"You—I don't get you." I narrowed my eyes. Of course he didn't get me! He didn't even know me.

"But—I feel like I know you. Whatever." He looked exasperated, like when the words are directly on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out right. My frustration dissipated—I understood his confusion; I tried to reassure him.

"It's okay. I get it." He felt it too. When our eyes collided, he felt it too. If I felt that he could see into my soul, maybe he felt like I could see into his too.