LEDGER

Isla

As Asa had predicted, Evan came around a few minutes later and had 'patched me up'. That meant a couple of stitches on my shoulder, some painkillers for my head and gauze wherever else Parks had hit me. My head, despite the beating it had taken feels fine, and Evan jokes that a tank could run over it and it wouldn't crack. Asa later tells me that after the procedure we have both been the recipients of, our skulls were 'fortified', whatever that means.

I ended up sleeping in Asa's bed that night, and he politely took one pillow and went to the communal living room, saying that he both needed to keep on the lookout for Parks and leave me to rest. But when morning comes around and I get up, I find the couches empty and neat. Instead, Asa is in the bathtub.

For a moment I am too perplexed to even act, but then I snap out of it and go to his side. He seems calm in his sleep, so very serene, lacking that omnipresent mask of indifference he wears in pictures and in real life. Arms crossed over his chest, legs bend up, on his side with only the pillow under his head separating him from the hard and cold walls of the bathtub, he sleeps deeply.

"Asa." I whisper-yell. When that yields no reaction from him, I touch his shoulder and shake him a little.

"Hm, what?" he croaks.

"Why are you in the bathtub?" I ask him.

"Evan locked Parks up somewhere." he says, explaining why he is not on the lookout still, not that I mind. "And I sleep well here. The bed is too soft." he adds, and his eyes crack open. I scoff.

"Have you tried sleeping on the floor?" I ask. "At least there you are not cramped."

"I have tried." he answers, unironically. "Didn't work as well as the tub."

"Are you at least partial to breakfasts, or are they too luxurious for you too?" I ask, unable to help a smile. He doesn't answer and instead reaches out to touch the side of my head. I bent a little closer, allowing him not to strain to touch me, and his eyes narrow at me.

"You are not flinching, or afraid of me." he says.

"Why would I be afraid of you?" I ask. "You are not going to hurt me."

"How are you so sure?" he asks back and softly dabs at my temple, testing if the spot is still sore, but it's not.

"I don't know." I say honestly. "I guess I am hoping for the best in people."

"People." he smiles, like it's so very funny and bitter at the same time.

I look at him, expecting an explanation, something at all but he just attempts to get out of the tub, groaning the entire time.

"Is it worth it sleeping here if it makes you feel miserable in the morning?" I ask.

"Yeah." he nods. "It's something I will have to fix at some point. Can you please wait for me before going into your room to change clothes? I want to make sure there is no way you can get hurt again."

I concede and let him brush his teeth while I fix myself a glass of milk in the kitchen and wait. He comes a few minutes later, looking well awake and presentable in a perfectly ironed light gray shirt and black slacks. His hair is kind of slicked back and away from his face, making the small scars on each side of his temple more visible than usual.

"Are you ready to go?" he asks, looking at me with expectant eyes. Focusing back on him I nod and put my glass in the sink. I follow him to my apartment, and I am so so grateful to have him along. Looking at the destruction Parks had left in his wake in broad daylight is somehow worse than imagining it in the darkness. There is glass spilling out of the cube into the corridor. The kitchen is messed up, the table on its side and the chairs fallen. The bathroom also shows signs of disarray but not quite as many as the corridor and kitchen. I take the chance to wash up and change clothes there for a moment and gather enough strength to face the chaos in my bedroom and office.