Vampire Bride

Chapter Eleven - Part Two

Maxwell

"Let me see your hand." More than anything I want to lecture her on her carelessness, but my voice comes out slow and calm in efforts to ease the situation.

"No. What the hell are you doing here? Did you not see my note or do you just not care. Haven't you done enough damage?" The disgust in her voice feels as though a knife is shredding my insides.

"I did read your hate letter and I was going to go, but then I heard a crash. Note or not I had to see if you were okay. I might have pushed you too far, but you're the one who's making yourself bleed all over the floor. Now let me see your hand."

"No!" she yells as she squares her shoulders all while blocking as much of her hand from view as she can manage.

I force breaths to tame my anger because my patience is wearing thin. "Charlie, right now, you might need stitches. Let me see your hand."

"Stitches, sure act as if you care that I might need stitches. Let's be honest with each other, I can see your blood thirsty stare that seems to be unable to break away from my bleeding hand." She shakes her injured palm in the air, drops of blood splattering to the ground. "This is all you're after, blood. This is all you care about, not me, just what's inside. You see it spilling out and you can't stop yourself from thinking what a waste."

"That's not true." And that's the truth. It might seem as if Charlie is nothing but an attractive walking talking blood bag, but she's more than that. "I know what I did was wrong and it's going to take some time to gain your trust, but you're more than blood to me. You mean more to me than my own survival. I'm on the verge of begging here, Charlie. Let. Me. See. Your. Hand." I walk slowly toward her as I speak. She doesn't back up or try to run away, she just stands there.

I grab her hand with the intention of examining her wound, but before my eyes can focus on the cuts beneath the oozing blood, I see her uninjured hand soar through the air. A slight sting radiates across my cheek as I allow her open hand to make contact with my face. "I deserved that." I see her hand swing again. The force makes my head turn to the side, but the pain becomes nonexistent. "I might have deserved that one as well."

When I see her hand go for a third hit I catch her at the wrist. "Enough. I get it, Charlie, you're mad...I get it. I'm mad at myself too, but you'll understand sooner or later that I did what I had to in order to keep you safe, in order for you to remain human for as long as you wish." I let go of her hurt hand to catch her knee that's in the process of getting ready to strike me as she refuses to hear my words.

"Charlie." The authority in my voice startles her. I push her knee down so she's standing on both feet again. I barely straighten my back before she rips her hand out of my grasp; with both hands in fists, she begins to pound on my chest. Her bloody palm leaves streaks on my shirt. Doing nothing but standing there allowing her to get her anger out, I tell myself I deserve every punch, every jab and I undeniably deserve to be called every foul name she mutters out.

As she grows tired, I catch her hands, pinning them against me. My eyes go to the bite mark on her neck and notice shiny spots of fresh blood line the small circles. She's been picking at it. She yanks one of her hands free once again and pulls the collar of her T-shirt up to cover her neck from view. Looking straight into her eyes, I can't help but to notice speckles of blood that cover her face. I can only assume mine does as well.

I lower her cut hand, opening it to reveal her sliced palm. "I don't think you need stitches, but it needs to be wrapped tightly to apply some pressure in order to stop the bleeding," I say after a few seconds.

"In the bathroom is some gauze. I'll go..." She takes long blinks, refusing to look at me.

"Let me." In the snap of one's fingers I arrive back at her side with the bandages. I ignore her shocked stare and gently grab her uninjured hand and lead her to the kitchen table so I can nurse her wounds. The silence in the room is broken as the microwave beeps, signaling that whatever is inside is done.