Divided

:Chapter Sixteen:

*****

I'm shaking from the fierce cold that I don't remember being 'eased into'. The temperature must have dropped double digits in seconds. If I'm cold though, Matthew must be freezing. I look up at him, and though he tries to hide it, I see him shiver. It's my fault, I have his shirt. I sit up, ignoring the pain in my arm and look over at him.

"I can make a fire, we don't have a lot of wood but it should last a while if I do it right." I say standing.

"But your arm..." He says pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

"I'm fine." I say walking to the pile of wood. I remember when I was really young, my father would spend hours at a time showing me different survival techniques. How to set snares to catch food, build fires and basic shelters. Sometimes I miss him so deeply I want to be gone with him, but then I remember that would mean no more food. Besides, I couldn't do that to my mom.

The fire heats the room slowly, but we scoot the couch closer so it's at least warm were we are. Matthew's arm stretches across my shoulders, keeping me near him. My shoulder throbs, especially with the pressure of his hand, but I don't say anything. The wind doesn't stop, it doesn't even slowly, as it gets dark. The fire light softens Matthew's usually stiff features, making him look years younger.

"How's your arm?" He asks shifting so he looks me in the eye.

"Still there..." I smile at him.

He gently rubs the top of my shoulder with his thumb. I relax a little more, leaning closer into him. "Do you need anything? I could look for another towel or rag or something to replace the shirt. It looks pretty thoroughly soaked..." He says softly, moving his arm a little so his hand rests behind my head, playing with my hair. I sigh a little and lay back into his hand.

"Okay." I say turning to look at him.

"You're just going to except my help? No arguing or insisting you can do it on your own?" He jokes making a shocked face. I roll my eyes and scoot over so he can stand.

"I'll be right back." He says standing up and walking down the hall. I wonder what's back there. I want to stand, but I just let Matthew help me and it would be rude for me to get up anyway. He comes back after a couple minutes with a small bowl of water and two towels. "We should clean you up a bit. That way I can see how deep the cut actually is." He says setting the bowl on the metal chair.

"I can do it." I say standing.

"No." He says stepping close to me, only inches away. His fingers curl around my waist and I take in a breath. "Let me." He whispers. I tighten my jaw and look up at him.

"But-" I start quietly but he brushes my cheek with his hands and I stop. What's the real harm? I kiss up his neck to his cheek and nod. For a second, he doesn't move. He stands near me, his hands on my waist keeping me close. I breathe softly by his neck, and he kisses my forehead.

"Ok let's do this." He says hoarsely taking a step back and pulling my hand with him.

I sit on the floor I front of the couch and he grabs the bowl and towels. He sits down and reaches over to untie his shirt. Blood drips as he unravels the cloth. It's alarming how much blood I've lost, I didn't even know I had that much blood in my body. No wonder I've been so loopy and docile. The shirt is completely soaked, dripping on the floor as he moves it towards an empty bucket. "Ugh, look at the mess I'm causing." I whisper.

"It's not your fault." He says soaking one of the towels with the water. My arm is coated in blood so much that I can't even see where the actual cut is. I find it real quick when he starts washing off the blood though. I half groan half scream through my teeth. It sounds quieter compared to the wind and the fire, but still loud. Matthew doesn't even glance at my face. He dabs around the wound, sopping up the blood as gentle as he can. Tears gather in my eyes from the pricks of pain, but I hold them in.