My fingers accidentally brushed his ears. This time he didn’t disappear or pull away. His fingers twitched at the base of my skull and then slowly slid down my back. Little shocks crackled along my skin in their wake. Nothing else existed but his urgent mouth and nimble fingers.
He stopped just short of the new mark. My left hand gave up its hold on his hair to wander down his shirt, drifting under the edge to skim over the flat plans of his stomach to his ribs. Seconds, minutes, years… I wanted time to hold still for our kiss. Instead, I tore away from him desperate for air.
He gave me an inch of space, just enough to turn my head while he trailed kisses down my throat. My skin tingled. More electric charges. His lips met my collarbone and he growled again. I touched his ear lightly not wanting him to stop.
Suddenly, I lay on my back, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
“Wait,” I gasped, a whiny edge crept into my voice. I hated it sounding so pathetic, but flames licked the base of my spine. All of the tingling charges he’d planted within me dissolved with my pain. I struggled to push him off me, desperate.
My pain and panic lasted less than a second before the bedroom changed into the kitchen. I blinked at change of perspective. We stood before the refrigerator. He pushed the button for ice and immediately I felt relief as he pressed ice to the raw skin.
“Forgive me,” he rumbled. “I forgot for a moment.”
My hands still in the same places, convulsed with the lingering application of ice. “Me too.” I lifted my head from his chest and met his gaze, while the soothing water trailed down my back.
Yellow streaked his eyes, no black, and I smiled at him sadly.
Ahgred’s mark healed enough Monday night that I sported a delicate scab Tuesday.
Ditching jeans, I wore leggings folded down low on my hips and a long sweater. The knitting on the sweater caught on the scab occasionally. The worst pain occurred when I sat or stood, the skin stretching or expanding, which affected the scab unpredictably. Thus, Tuesday passed with measured moments of soreness.
Moving from class to class, I struggled to keep the discomfort from showing in my expression. I knew I failed when Beatriz repeatedly glanced my way.
Wednesday should have been better, but instead it hurt worse.
Before lunch, Beatriz yanked me into a bathroom just as the next class bell rang and demanded to know the cause of my facial gymnastics.
“Remember that tattoo?” She nodded her eyes wide. “Don’t ever get one,” I moaned and lifted my shirt so she could see.
“Ew! That doesn’t look good,” she said, rummaging in the bag she had hanging from her shoulder. She pulled out tweezers, peroxide, bandages, antiseptic spray, tubes of cream, and more, lining it all on the stainless steel shelf mounted just below the length of the bathroom’s mirror.
Her supplies amazed me. “Why do you have all of that?”
“Because my friend gimped around most of the day yesterday and then left school looking a little flushed. Something had to be infected and I knew you’d tell me eventually. Turn around,” she said picking up the spray and the tweezers.
I so didn’t want to turn around. The white aerosol cylinder with tiny black lettering screamed hospital grade germ-killing fire in a can. “I’ll ask my mom to take me to the doctor,” I promised not taking my eyes from the can.
Bea put her hands on her hips. “Turn. Around.”
Giving her my best puppy eyes, I tried again. “I’ll trade you one more day of lets-wait-and-see-if-it-gets-better for a movie date with Morik.” It’d be dark. He’d be fine.
“Now, I know it’s bad. It’s me, or the school nurse. You’re not yet seventeen. Heads are going to roll for an underage tattoo. And it’s not ratting if I’m doing it to save your life,” she clarified. Resolve lit her eyes.
Defeated, I turned, angling myself so I could watch in the mirror and brace my hands on the white porcelain rim of the sink.
She flipped the edged of my shirt back and hissed in a breath. “Some of the scabs are almost off because of the clothes and cracking. I’m going to use the tweezers to…”
“Beatriz, just do it quick. I don’t want a play-by-play.”
She shook her head then ducked closer to her work.
I tried relaxing my shoulders in preparation of her first assault. It didn’t work. I yelped my way through the scab removal. My knees buckled when she sprayed the now open and raw wound. I clung to the sink to stay upright. She didn’t stop.
Dousing my back in peroxide, catching the run off with a paper towel, she killed every germ. Of course, the peroxide didn’t stop at germs. It continued eating its way to my spine.
She moved to grab one of the tubes and I looked up in the mirror with watering eyes to watch.
In a stall off to the side, I caught the blazing red and yellow swirl of Morik’s gaze. How had he known? Of course. My pain called him to me.