Together ~ A Clove and Cato story ~

Chapter three (Cloves POV): Injured and Weak

              When I recapture consciousness, the first thing that registers in my brain is all of the pain; aching, pounding, pain all over my body. My eyes flutter open, and my surroundings whirl into focus. A blonde-haired boy is seated in a chair beside where I am lying, an icepack in his hand. My forehead wrinkles in confusion, and I almost utter, "Who are you?" But then, all memory of the past couple, few, however many hours it had been, comes flooding back. This boy, his name is Cato. And he saved me. He leans forward, gently pressing the ice pack to my nose, and the relief is immediate. Cold, numb, perfect.

               He looks down at me, his ice-blue eyes studying my face. I squeeze my eyes closed, convinced that I could just maybe convince him that I'm still konked out. Then I wouldn't have to suffer through talking to him. Because I just know that I would end up embarrassing myself, and the part of my already overtired brain that is in charge of speech would catch a case of cute-boy-has-my-tongue and cause me to go on babbling nonsense.

               He chuckles. "I know you're awake."

              I sigh internally, and my heart catches in my throat. Damn it. Plan ruined. I chew my lip, still refusing to open my eyes.

             "I don't bite, you know."

              I peek one of my eyes open, partially curious as to how this will play out. When I'm sure that I've composed myself enough to speak to him, I open the other eye. He smirks at me, his expression a mixture of smugness and contentment.

             "There we go," he tilts his head, observing my eyes. "What color are your eyes? Hazel? I like it. They're nice."

             My cheeks grow incredibly warm, and I become desperate to change the subject.

            "What happened to you?" My voice comes out as a raspy croak, and my embarrassment increases. I clear my throat. "Your eye, I mean."

              His fingers automatically find their way to his eye, and he traces the greenish-yellow bruise surrounding the perimeter of it. He shrugs. "It doesn't really hurt, honestly. And I think you should worry more about your own condition than mine, Clover."

             "Why? What's wrong with me?" Then I catch his final word and narrow my eyes. "And it's Clove...not Clover."

              Cato throws me a grin that surprises me when it makes my heart skip a beat. "I know. Anyway...the doctor said that you have a concussion, mild, but still requires rest and not much thinking. You also have a sprained ankle, which she splinted, and some sort of stomach injury. She wrapped this compression bandage thingy around your entire chest and stomach and said that it'll take some time to heal." I try not to think about how that means that my shirt came completely off and in front of some boy that I only just met today. But I guess that there are worse things that could happen to me than being seen in my sports bra.

              Cato leans forward once again and brushes back the flyaway hairs that have escaped from my loosely, yet still plaited, braid. His fingertips brush against the heated skin of my cheek before he pulls back, the faint blush on his cheeks matching mine. "Oh! And she taped your nose. Said that it was broken. That's why I was icing it; thought maybe that would help the swelling."

              I tilt my head at him, a puzzled expression spreading across my face. Why is he being so nice to me? It's rather strange, to be honest. He has this gentleness to him that I've never seen in anybody else before. And he was instantly fascinated by me...don't tell me that doesn't mean something.