Waindale

thirty-two. what's yours is mine

I sit against the front door, enveloped in my blanket, waiting without a drop of patience in my being. The tile floor is hard and cold, but I've adapted to the discomfort and stopped caring about my numb toes. My mind is conjuring all sorts of things I want to shout at him. There are so many things that I can't seem to decide what to say first. Maybe how it's our first night as people that live partially together, and he's abandoned me on this special marker. Maybe how this is the second time he's done this—left with little to no explanation—and all I can do is worry until he comes back, if he does. Maybe how I'm in this house all alone and something could happen to me; he must have left for a reason.

My fingernails dig unconsciously into my palms as my eyes stay fixated on the ground. Sounds come from outside then, and I perk up like a dog who's been waiting for their owner all day. The pull rekindles in my core, so I clammer to my feet and peer out the window on the door. Two people are stammering up the driveway. I squint and realize it's Adam and Ben. Confusion consumes me.

Like a volcano that's ready to blow, I unlock the door and swing it open, letting the frigid air pour in. The two peer up and me and soon I notice their struggle, or rather his struggle. My hand drops from the door handle. I take a few steps onto the porch. Adam is leaning somewhat on Ben; I knew something caused that pain in my side. "W-What the hell?" I ask, more so concerning Adam's state than my anger toward him. My urge to bubble over dies down.

Adam's gaze leaves me. My beady eyes shift to Ben.

"There was a situation," Ben says.

I step aside as he helps Adam through the door. My chest aches relentlessly, desperate to know why my mate is staggering; why he's holding his side.

I follow and close the door. Ben brings him to the kitchen. Adam leans against the counter, still pressing on his side, but now in the light, I see the red on his shirt. "Why are you bleeding?" I ask, trying to remain calm even though the sight of his blood is making tears well in my eyes.

Adam winces when he lifts his hand a bit.

"Keep the pressure on it," Ben orders and opens a cabinet stocked with bandages and gauze and other medical-emergency type things.

"I swear to god if someone doesn't tell me what happened right now I'm going to freak."

Ben looks to Adam. Adam sighs and says, "There was a situation. I got nipped. It's not bad. I'll be fine."

"So you aren't going to tell me why you left in the middle of the night without telling me? And you're just going to prance around what actually happened to you? There's blood all over your shirt, Adam. Are you serious?"

"It's fine," he says. "Go back to bed. I'll be there in a bit."

My chest rises and falls and rises and falls. Ben—who I know is well aware of how much of an ass Adam is being—motions for him to lift up his shirt. When I see the horrific bite mark buried in his flesh, I swiftly leave the kitchen. I hear Ben say something, but I can't make it out as I hurry up the steps, fuming. This is not what I wanted when I nearly begged my mother to live here with him. I did not expect Adam to be disappearing as I sleep all to return with giant bite marks. How could he brush me off like that? How could he tell me to go back to bed like a pet in front of Ben?

I slap the light switches in the bedroom and throw my suitcase to the floor. Taking all of my clothes from the closet, I dump them into the bag. I then head to the bathroom and gather all of my belongings from there before tossing them in as well. It's a fight to zip it up, but the adrenaline pumping through me helps.

Shakily, I tap at my phone then hold it to my ear. It rings then goes to voicemail. I try again.

"H-Hello?"