Lost Girl

Chapter 5

Diana 
Something smells amazing. It's like cinnamon and spices and cookies and so many wonderful things, I just want to rub my face in it. And because I'm holding the thing that's emitting the smell, I do. I bury my face into the soft fabric, content to just lay there where I am forever. My eyes open and try to adjust to the dim light, but it's hard and annoying so I just close them again. Why move when I'm so comfortable? 

"Hey, you awake?" I hear a voice whisper, husky and low. I don't reply, not wanting to break the peaceful serenity in the room. If I speak, I might have to move, and I don't want to do that either. It's warm and soft and nice in this bed, and I haven't had any of those things together in a long time. 

"I guess not. I'll talk anyway. I saw the bruise on your arm. I saw it and I couldn't...I don't know why it made me so mad. I've seen those kind of bruises before, so I know what it's from, and maybe that's what makes me so angry. I lost it when I went out there and I'm glad you didn't see it. I'm glad you won't walk out there and see me throwing a fit because I'm mad. The knife didn't go very far into the plaster anyway." 

He threw a knife? At the wall? 

"I mean I know I shouldn't have done it, but if I didn't I was afraid I'd end up hitting someone, and Luke was the only person there and he didn't do anything. I hate that you won't tell me anything. I know you don't trust me and I respect that, but that fucking bruise..." 

I heard his breath catch, could almost hear the clenching of his teeth. I wish I could see him, to understand exactly what he was feeling. From what I've seen, both on the internet and via previous encounters, he has a really expressive face. It makes it easier to tell what he really means, what he really wants to say. 

"Are you awake?" He asks again, and if I was facing him I would think that he realizes that I am. I know he doesn't, that he's asking because he might be about to say something I might not want to hear, but still, I make sure my breathing is even and I don't say anything. 

"I want to fucking kill whoever did that. I want to break their fucking neck. How could they do that to you? How could they do that to anyone? I don't know why I feel so strongly about you, I don't even know you beyond that you have issues and you don't like romance movies, but something seems to draw me to you and I wish so hard that you trusted me. To be fair I wouldn't trust me either, some random guy who glides in and says he wants to save you. But Jesus, I hate it. The terror you must've felt when you were panicking..." 

I roll over at his pause, careful to keep my breathing even as I readjust, still clinging to whatever I'm holding in my hands. He holds his breath like he's waiting for me to wake up or say something, but a few moments later he lets it out again. 

"But then I walked in here to make sure you were ok, and you were holding onto my sweater--like you are now--and I suddenly felt better. It was the weirdest thing. Like seeing you safe in my bed just calmed me down." 

I slit my eyes open so I could see him, the dim light from under the curtains falling on him and illuminating him like some kind of angel. Even the light seemed drawn to him, this boy in his black skinny jeans and muscle tank top. 
He was staring down at his hands clenched in his lap, biting his lip. 
"You were that angry because of a bruise?" I said softly, afraid that a loud voice would completely shatter the quiet. 

His head jerked up, obviously surprised that I'd been listening. 
"Why didn't you say anything?" 
He didn't look angry, just a bit shocked, so I wasn't afraid to tell him. 
"You were saying things you wouldn't have said if I'd been awake." I said, still curled in a ball around his sweater. So he was the reason why it smelled so good. 
Like his hug.

His brows furrowed, but he didn't reprimand me or get mad. 
"Yeah, I was really angry about that bruise." he admitted, not looking at me. 

Honestly, could this sweater smell any better? If he's not looking when I leave, I'm taking it with me. It's also really soft, a bonus. 
"It's ok. It fades away, like it never happened in the first place." I smile, but he can't see it because it's hidden in the folds of the duvet and the clothing. I don't know why I feel so happy right now, but it's like I'm in a different place, like I'm on a different planet altogether. None of the stuff that haunts me has ever happened, and the boy in front of me is someone I'm allowed to fall in love with. 

"How can you say that?" He says harshly, and I can see his hands become fists in his lap.  
This is what I meant when I said he wouldn't understand. 
"Sometimes that's how I have to deal with it. The bruises will fade, the arms will splint, the scars can be covered up, and I can leave. I can leave all of it behind, and it will be like it never happened." 

But I can see it on his face, that expressive face with the eyes that tell you everything he's thinking, that he doesn't believe me. 
"That stuff doesn't fade. It doesn't go away. Those memories will be with you forever." He says, and I can hear the anger in his voice. I don't know who he's trying to convince, me or himself. I know just as well as he does, probably better, that they don't fade, that the scars will stay with me forever, but right now, in this moment, I want to pretend like they will fade, that none of the stuff that happened to me did, and I'm a different person. 

"It's ok. I'm ok." I say, snuggling into the covers. The outside world feels so cold, I don't want to leave. 
"Are you really?" His voice is soft, and he sounds almost like he's crying. 
I know he's not, there are no tears and he doesn't have a runny nose, but it sounds like it. 
"Yeah, I am." 
And then like a slap of ice water, I remember that my parents get home at 5, and I don't know how long I've been here. 
"Calum, what time is it?"  

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and clicks the button, bringing up the display. The light is harsh in the darkness.
"It's 4.30." He tells me before putting it away. 
I gasp, scrambling out of the bed and nearly tripping on the linens. l don't let go of the sweater, hoping that maybe he won't realize I have it and I can just keep it. I might even get lucky, and the scent won't dissipate after he leaves. I sit on the step, lacing my converse up as quickly as possible while Calum looks on, waiting for me to explain, probably. 
"I have to go, my parents get home at 5." I tell him, brushing my hair away from my face. 

When I stand up, I go to grab my jacket but he holds it down on the couch, stopping me. I can't read the look on his face, and I'm a little scared. I know, in my mind, that he won't hurt me, but I can never be sure what someone will do in a fit of anger. 
"Can I have a hug?" He asks, startling me. 
He holds his arms out, brown eyes sparkling at me as he waits. I swallow my 'no' and walk  forward, letting him wrap me up. It feels like that time in the lobby, but different somehow. He smells the same--such an intoxicating scent, really--and he feels the same, but something about me is different. 

I reach up hesitantly to put my hands against his back, kind of surprised that someone can be held so tightly and not feel like they're suffocating. His muscles flex beneath my hands, and I almost let go, but I hold on because it feels too nice. He's warm and he's not really soft, but he is at the same time, and I don't ever want to let go. 

"You don't have to leave." he murmurs into my hair, and I know what he's offering. 
He knows that the bruises aren't all from strangers, and he wants to keep me safe with him. I have to go home, I have things that I want to take with me when I finally leave from here and I can't do that if I stay here with him in this room where no one will think twice about me screaming for help. 

This time I let go, while I still have the willpower. He feels so safe, I don't really want to leave. 
"I have to. And um...thanks for letting me stay here after I...after that." I mutter, staring at the ground. 
"Look, I know this is probably the last thing you want, but really I don't know much about you. Would you like to maybe go out for lunch sometime?" He asks me, and for some reason it feels bizarre. 
It's like we've known each other too long to have to do something that simple, like we're too close to need that. But he's right, we barely know each other, and while this voice at the back of my mind is whispering that's a good thing, keep him at a distance, otherwise you'll get caught and then where will you be? I ignore it and say, 

"Sure." 
His grin is almost blinding, and he hugs me again, this time too briefly. 
"Do you work tomorrow?" 
I nod, dragging my coat on. It's not really cold outside, but I like to cover up the evidence of my pain as often as possible. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't wear a long sleeve shirt. It would've been easier. 
"Yes. But my lunch hour is from 11-12." I tell him, and for some reason this time when I feel that little flutter again, I don't crush it. I still don't trust him, I don't know him, but that little flutter feels kind of good. 

"Great, I'll meet you here tomorrow then?" 
And I nod again, feeling like I've agreed to more than just lunch.