It’ll stop hurting soon. Any and all pain comes to an end; eventually.
Romeo
Back at my apartment building, I stand in the elevator waiting for it to make its way to my floor. I tap my foot, growing impatient by the second. Since when did this damn thing go so slow? I can’t help but wonder if Luna is still there, if she’s okay. What did she do while I was gone. Finally the double doors slide open and I quickly dart through them. Keys already in my hand, I unlock the door and the deadbolt. The sound of music blaring from inside making me turn my head to the side to make sure that’s what I’m hearing. Opening the door, I race inside feeling as if something’s wrong. I don’t know why, I just do. My eyes sweep to the kitchen first, noticing drawers and cabinets open. Tossing the keys on the counter, I follow the music and find Luna against the wall under my stereo with no shirt on, a towel tied around her wrist. Her chest so white, I can’t help but notice how pink her erect nipples are.
I rush to her side and grab her injured arm. Did she cut herself on purpose? Why? I turn the music off and her head raises, her green eyes looking into mine.
“What’d you do?” I ask. Anger and concern mix together in my voice making me sound like another man but when my eyes fall to her bare breasts, I know I’m still the same old Romeo, the look of a naked woman making my heart double-tap. Reaching behind me, I grab the buffalo check throw blanket from the couch and press it against her chest, covering her from my lingering eyes.
She clears her throat, using her good hand to hold the blanket up. I notice white silvery scars on her arms, and across her chest, the marks telling a rough tale of her past.
“I cut it out. I cut out the GPS,” she informs me. Mouth parted, it takes me a second to process what the fuck she just said. Her wrist in my hand, I undo the tied towel and find a small deep cut in her arm. They chip women? Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. Jesus Christ.
I re-wrap her arm and hurry out of the room to my bathroom. I have a small medical kit under the sink. Bending down, I pull open the doors and rifle through the cleaning products and worn towels until the rusty kit meets my fingertips. I jerk it out from under the pile of shit and head back to Luna. Opening it, I find a butterfly strips. I wonder if that will be enough? Pushing Band-Aids, gauze, and scissors to the side, I notice the kit to be missing disinfectant. Passing my chair in the great room, I swipe a bottle of vodka from the wet bar before going into the living room and squatting down next to her.
Taking her hand in my own, I pull off the rag, the cut is fleshy looking, at least half an inch deep and bleeding dark red blood when pressure is not applied. I pour a little alcohol on it. She squirms, her toes curling in on themselves.
“You should have told me.” I say coldly. I could have gotten this out better, or called someone. She needs to learn to trust me.
“I didn’t know you cared.” Her words equally chilly.
My eyes snap to hers, both of us staring at each other but not saying a word. Shaking my head, I look back down at the wound.
Dabbing the leftover dampness with the hand towel, I place the butterfly strip onto her cut, closing it.
Sitting on my ass, I put the neck of the bottle of vodka to my lips and take a long pull, my mouth filling with alcohol before I swallow and lower it back down.
She leans up and takes it from my hand. Her emerald irises looking over the rim of the bottle as she takes a tiny sip, makes a face, and then takes one more sip before handing it back. I used to think I was petty and selfish for keeping women at a distance, not wanting to get involved or afraid I’d end up breaking their heart in the end. I haven’t had Luna in my care long, and I can definitely say without a doubt how much trouble they are. Here I was thinking I was the worst of the equation, if Luna is anything to go by… women are fucking crazy.
My eyes skim over her creamy, bare shoulders, her collarbone, and I have the urge to reach out and run a finger over her skin.
I look away, the last thing this poor girl needs is me eye-fucking her. “How bad does it hurt?” I ask, standing up.
Glancing down before I leave the room, she shrugs. Going into the kitchen, I see the knife in the sink something smashed to dust on my counter. I grab her hoodie, my eyes lingering on the scene before me. I used to think I was a monster for the things I did and even felt, but looking at the smashed GPS on my counter, a sudden chill runs down my spine… so what the fuck does that say?
Back Inside the living room, I toss the hoodie at her, she barely catches it.
“Dress. Now,” I demand, needing her to put something on so I can remain a gentleman. It’s taking every restraint I have not to make a move on her. I’ve never had a half-naked woman around and not had her
