TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 20 | DO YOU MIND?

LOUIS🗡

Monday, 4:23pm

_

"YOU DAMN IDIOT," Ash scowled, "when were you going to bring this up?"

In my defense, I was too distracted by the progress we were making that I didn't realize I was still bleeding out from a gunshot wound until we were already hijacking a plane back to London. I'd been shot three times before—I got used to the numb feeling—and I had wrapped it beforehand to make sure I didn't lose all my blood.

But now I might lose my life, because Ash is probably going to kill me.

"I forgot," I said, the sound of the plane engine humming in the background, "it's not a big deal, really."

Ash smacked me in the arm. "Shut up!"

"What did I do?"

"You're being an idiot!" She spat out, "don't you dare die on me, Louis, or I will never forgive you for it."

"I'll be fine—"

Before I could finish my sentence, I felt two hands on the side of my face, yanking me forward harshly. It was cramped in the trunk of the plane, dark too, but I could see her directly in front of me. Our foreheads were nearly touching, but I was more concerned with the anger in her eyes to care. She looked like she'd either kiss me or kill me.

"For the last time, shut the hell up," she hissed under her breath, "now let me take care of your wound."

I gave her a blank stare. "Yes Ma'am."

Rolling her eyes at my sarcastic tone, she let go of my face, shuffling through the cramped space and towards the suitcases belonging to some of the passengers. I sat back and watched as she started unzipping them, searching for whatever crap she was looking for.

I was tempted to make a joke, but I didn't want to ignite her fury even more, so I decided to remain silent.

She returned a few minutes later with a needle, floss, a newly-packaged toothbrush, and a water bottle. I didn't say anything, because I knew exactly what was going on in her mind—and her ability to heal her own gunshot wound from a few weeks ago proved her credibility.

"How high's your pain tolerance?" She asked, busying herself with her stolen tools.

I cocked a brow. "Depends on the type of pain."

I didn't have a chance to laugh at my own joke before she put her fingers on my cheek, pinching my skin between her nails. I let out a loud wince. She glared at me, starting to unwrap the toothbrush with a distasteful look.

"Clearly it's low, then," she said, taking off her jacket, "take this."

I gave her an expression of disbelief. "I'm not doing that."

"Yes, you are."

"This thing has more germs on it than a toddler's dummy."

"Funny, because that's how you're going to use it," she said, "now stick the jumper in your mouth and bite down on it, because if you start yelling your head off when I clean your wound, someone in the plane will know we're here."

She had a point and I didn't like it.

Giving her a pointed glare that said 'I'm not doing this out of my own free-will', I put a few bits of the neon fabric in my mouth, clamping my teeth on it to muffle the sound of my voice.

Much to my disposition, Ash didn't provide warning, before she shuffled herself closer to me, grabbing the end of my bloodied shirt, and lifting it up to expose my bare stomach to the chilly air. It was like getting hit in the face with an icicle. I was tempted to call her out of it, but she was busy dipping the toothbrush in water to care.