Wanted

•That's A Little Too Specific•

{•Unedited•}
~Bex's POV~

Monday

"You shouldn't be walking around," I tell Atticus, helping him down to the couch. He lets out a deep breath, his eyes closed. His black lashes fan out over the tops of his cheek bones. I sit down close beside him, my body pressed tightly to his. This weekend was the most irritating ever. The man doesn't understand what it means to "sit his ducking ass down". I had to hit him more than once with a bread roller; you would think he would have learned after the first time, so I made sure each hit was harder than the last.
"I'm fine," he says, looking over at me. He's, in fact, not fine. His left arm is crossed I've his stomach to his right side, putting pressure on his ribs. His jaw is clenched tightly. Earlier when I was in the bathroom I could hear him wincing and groaning as he was walking around, but as soon as I came out he stopped, not allowing himself to show that he's in pain.
"It would make me feel a lot better if you stopped moving around so much. It's making me nervous," I tell him. If he's walking around when I'm not here and hits his side on something, what's he supposed to do? Then again, what would I do? I'm not strong enough to help him with anything; I'd be stupid to even try.
"If it'll keep you from pulling your hair out, I'll try," he says, squeezing my hand. My stomach does a flip. The smallest contact from him has been having a huge affect on me. The bruise he left from the other night is fading nicely, the area now a gross green blob on my air with some yellow and purple. It still hurts to touch, so I just keep my hands off it.
   "Thank you."
 
     Tuesday
  
     I don't know what really made it happen or why it did.
    All I know is that I was standing in his kitchen getting water, knowing I was about to leave to see Zav, and Atticus came in. This time there was no hiding the pain or trying lying about it. There was no denying the amount of pain he was in with those tears flossing his green eyes. He refused to let them spill on the way to the room, one of my hands on one hid shoulders and one on his back just in case. Every time I do this, I wonder why I actually do it because if he falls, we're both going down. If any random were to see this, they would probably laugh and say "awe, how cute." No, it's not cute, it's me not wanting to get crushed but also knowing I could be a body mat if he falls. Gosh, I would die.
     "Will you please let me give you something to take?" I ask, standing at the edge of the bed. He's laying on top of the covers, hands gripping the sheets. If he weren't in pain the sight would be erotic in my mind, but I have to remind myself that he has two broken ribs, a bunch of painful bruises and cuts, and a sprained wrist.
    "Okay," he sighs, quickly wiping away a tear that creeped out the side corner of his eye. I turn around and rush to the bathroom where he started keeping the Advil. He had it in the kitchen for a while; who the hell puts that in a kitchen?
     He already grabbed a water bottle when he was in the kitchen, so I don't both with getting that when I return to him. He takes the two small pills from my hand and takes them easily. I turn around, sitting on the very edge.
    "You should leave how you were," he says. He didn't know why I was leaving, I didn't want to tell him. Neither of us have hardly mentions Zav the last three days, keeping the relationship between us steady.
    "I don't think that's a good idea. You don't know how long you could laying down for in pain. What if you need to get up?"
   "Then I'll get up," he answers with a teasing smile. I haven't helped you get up anyways.
   "What if you just get hurt? Or need something and the pain hasn't gone away?" He laughs at my many worrisome suggestions. He's not gonna be laughing if he slips in the shower, now will he? I want to see Zav and spend time with him, but it doesn't beat out my concern over Atticus's condition.
    "How about this; if I'm feeling fine by the next hour and a half, you'll leave, but if I'm not or something like how you said happens, you can stay," he says, working toads a compromise. It's a small gesture, but shows me how much he's grown in the past few weeks. Before, he would have argued until I left. 
    "That works for me." Carefully, I swing one leg over him, then the other to get to the other side of the bed. His eyes widened for a second, probably confused as hell as to why I was throwing my leg over his body. Trust me, I have that temptation, dude. Zav's fucking lucky in loyal unless I would be hoeing it up right now.
      "Thank you for taking care of me the last few days. I don't deserve it," he says. I want to tell him that he's right, he doesn't deserve my kindness at this point, but I don't. I bite my tongue, just smiling sweetly. Again, I don't know what brought it on. We were just talking and laying down, then the next thing I knew his lips were on the corner of mine, his hand moving my head in his direction.
    I didn't stop him from moving my head until our lips met; I let it happen. As soon as we made contact, there was a wave of clarity and safety washed over me. It's not a new feeling that I get from kissing him, but after going without it for long, it's more noticeable. It's crazy how one person's kiss can have a completely different affect than others.
    My hands shape across his collarbones, slapping them around his neck and clasping there at the back. The short hairs brush softly against my hands. I'm breathless already and it's only just begun. His body is still, everything except for his hands and lips. His mouth moves perfectly with mine, seeming as if he knows exactly what I want or what I'm going to do. His tongue moves expertly around my mouth, brushing against my own. His calloused hands are still in my waist, pulling me closer, but I keep a distance between us to keep him from getting hurt. His skin is burning until my touch, body temperature having risen a good fifteen degrees from when I first brought him in here ten minutes ago.
     I pull back, my senses starting to rush back to the surface. I'm expecting the feeling of regret or guilt, but there's none of that. He stares into my eyes as I do him, not saying a word. We just stare at each other breathlessly, probably both thinking the same thing. What the fuck did we just do?
    
     Wednesday