Every Badass Girl Has Secrets (ON PAUSE)

8. Touches

Recap:

"B, why is there blood on your face and you?"

Blaze's POV:

No, no, no, no, he couldn't have been overanalyzing me to that extent. I turned away from his glare, reached up and touched my face. It was wet with blood, and I had remembered when Paul had slid his thumb across my face. I cursed internally and looked down to see where the rest of the blood was. It was damp on my sports bra and had seeped through the sweater I was wearing. I must have made deep contact with Paul when I rolled him over.

"I accidentally cut myself on my side and forgot about it," I said, making up the lie on the spot.

"Let me take a look at it," Marcus said, his eyes focused on my side.

I pulled my arms across my chest. "The cut is little and below my sports bra, it's nothing to worry about," I said.

He looked at me and it seemed to pain him to force the words out. "Did someone do this to you?"

"No, no, no," I said, laying my hand on his to suppress his suspicions. "I accidentally slid my fingernail across a cut that I had already there."

"Are you going to be alright?" Marcus looked at my face intently this time.

"Yes, I'll be fine. This is only a small cut and I've had plenty worse. I'll survive."

I looked back up at Marcus and he was closing his eyes, trying to rein his anger in. I moved my hand on his and gripped his fingers.

"There is nothing you could have done, what is in the past is in the past."

He unhooked his hand from mine and reached up to my face. I flinched back unintentionally and he let his hand fall down to my leg, his eyes darkening.

"Whoever made you feel that response towards touch is someone I want to meet and ask them what was going through their mind while they hurt this beautiful girl. I don't know why I feel this overprotective of you, but I don't want anything to ever happen to you again, and it won't while you are under my protection."

Tears sprung to my eyes and I willed them to stay in, but a few slipped out. I reached my other hand towards the one on my knee and grabbed it, squeezing it tight to show my appreciation.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," he said, standing up off my bed.

He gently took my hand and I stood up after him and followed him to the bathroom. He took a washcloth from beside the shower and wet it with water. He pulled the toilet lid seat down and indicated that I sit on it. I sat on it, unsure of what he was going to do next.

"I'm just going to touch this to your face and I'm going to lift up your shirt after and clean the blood off of that as well," he said.

I gave a weak smile and he grabbed onto my hand, lying clammy on my lap. He leaned over me and cautiously swiped the washcloth across my face. Him leaning across me brought back memories of him, but for the sanity of Marcus's mind, I kept my feelings to myself.

"What was the alarm for?" I shakily asked.

"That signals a gang meeting. I didn't have time to come and get you out of your room, sorry about that. But we all go to the front of the main base and stand in the opening. Tony talks for a little bit about what he feels is necessary and then we disperse when he sounds the second alarm."

I nodded my head. "Should I be going to these?"

"As you are a part of the gang now, I assume so."

The slow movement of the washcloth across my face halted and I looked up at him.

"I'm going to lift up your shirt now to clean your side. I'm not going to harm you and I am not going to lift up your bra to clean the cut."

I cautiously nodded, and he looked into my eyes for a little while longer. He then sat down to the side of me on the bathroom floor and lifted up the thin sweatshirt. His fingers brushed against my side and gave an involuntary shudder.

"Are you okay?"

I didn't trust my voice, and just nodded in response. He took a different side of the washcloth and brushed it against my side. It felt nice to be appreciated by someone and to have someone touch my side so gently, and not beat it in with steel boots.

Too soon, my sweatshirt was draped over my body.

I touched his shoulder before he stood up. "Thank you, no one has ever done that for me."

He gritted his teeth at the end of my sentence but managed a smile in return. He then studied me for a while longer and before I knew it, he was pulling his sweatshirt off. Confused but slightly aroused by the sliver of tan stomach I saw, I looked at him and his intense blue eyes.

Before I could talk, he reached over me and pulled the hem of my sweatshirt. He then proceeded to pull the sweatshirt I had on over my head. Confused and now slightly frightened, I watched as he pulled his sweatshirt over my head.

"Yours had too much blood on it," he said once I had snuggled into the soft fabric.

"Thank you," I said, genuinely meaning it.

He nodded his head. "I know it isn't too late at night, but I think you need to get some rest. I'll leave you alone and come get you in the morning for breakfast."

I half-smiled up at him. "Thanks again."

I walked him to the door of my small room and he walked to the outside, leaning against the doorframe, grinning.

"You know, you do look nice in my clothes."

I chuckled at him and smiled, closing the door. I walked over to my bed and slid my bag underneath the bed once again. I lifted up the couple of blankets and crawled underneath them, hoping to avoid the nightmares for one night.