“That looks really nasty. I mean it, you have to let me clean that up,” she insisted. “No arguments.”
He didn’t seem to have any. She pushed the door open, pulling herself over the threshold. Jack made his way into the living room, a low moan escaping as he sat down on the couch.
“Don’t move,” she ordered, even though he didn’t look capable of it.
In the bathroom, she dug the first aid kit out of the cupboard along with a clean, damp washcloth, and a towel. Piling everything onto her lap, she made her way through to the bedroom and picked up a small bottle of water and the painkillers from her bedside table, adding them to the mounting pile as she headed for the living room. Having a purpose helped to keep the fear at bay, and she hung on to the mental list in her head, repeating it over and over.
First aid kit. Washcloth. Towel. Painkillers. Water.
Jack sat on the couch where she’d left him, staring at the floor. He looked so much the worse for wear, and it wasn’t just the blood. As much as she wanted to know what was going on, he looked too fragile to survive a proper conversation. She positioned herself in front of him and began to unload the contents of her lap onto the coffee table.
“Look at me,” she instructed gently, her attention consumed by the angry lump on his forehead.
Doing as he was told, his eyes finally met hers and it felt like entire conversations took place without either of them uttering a word aloud. The pain she saw went deeper than physical pain, cutting to the very core of him. It was raw, as if it had been dragged to the surface kicking and screaming, and it stared back at her, shocked to be so close to the light once more.
She tried to concentrate on his wounds and not the look of pure desolation before her, as she began dabbing gently at them.
His face contorted in pain as she wiped away the blood from his face, trying not to aggravate the rapidly rising bruises. She gently applied antiseptic cream, working slowly and methodically.
Finally, she dried off her hands on the towel. “Can you pass me that bottle of pills?”
Obediently, he did as he was told, unable to hide the grimace as he reached for it.
Satisfied, she sat back. “Take one of those,” she said, nodding at the bottle in his hand as she handed him the bottled water to wash it down with.
“I don’t need –“
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She could see him arguing the point in his head, but he relented and tipped a pill out into his palm, swallowing it with a gulp of water. About to hand the bottle of pills back to her, he looked at it closely, frowning. “These are prescription.”
“Yes, they are. They’re pretty good, too. It’ll take the edge off.”
She busied herself putting everything back into the first aid kit, folding the towel on her lap and putting it onto the coffee table, bloodied washcloth on top. Her shoulders ached but she daren’t let it show.
“What are these for?” he asked, indicating the bottle of pills still in his hand.
“I told you, sometimes I have back pain.”
She reached for the bottle but he held it away from her.
“Did he hurt you?” he murmured. “Let me see.”
“No, I’m fine, really.”
But he had already put the bottle of pills back on the table and turned towards her. “Show me.”
“Jack, I’m fine. You’re the one who –“
Ignoring her, he leaned forward and reached up to gently pull her sweatshirt aside. She realised it was a waste of time trying to distract him now, so she let him, a shiver running through her as his hand brushed against her neck. As he pulled the neck of her sweatshirt wider, the look on his face said it all.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
She pushed his hands away. “It’s fine.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered brokenly, reaching for her hands and enclosing them in his. “I don’t know what else to say. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“What did happen? I don’t understand. What’s going on? Who were those guys?”
He blew out a long breath through his teeth and shook his head slowly. She waited patiently, taking comfort from his hands on hers and willing him to do the same.
“I made a mistake,” he said finally. “I did something stupid and then I took off. Sound familiar?”
“I still don’t understand. How can you owe ten thousand dollars?”
He tried to pull away but she held fast to his hands, begging him silently for more. He sighed heavily, his body sagging.
“Boxing.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Boxing? Like, fighting?”
“Yeah.”
“But ten thousand dollars? I don’t get it.”