My Lifeline

34

On the walk back to my house the next day, I start to limp. Blood is drawn from my ankle with each step Will and I take. He notices immediately, and then his eyes widen when he catches glimpse of the blood that has started to stain my trainers.

"You're bleeding!" he says so loudly that it makes me jump.

I look over my shoulder and grimace at my ankle. "Oh. It's just my ankle rubbing against my shoe. It always happens."

"Smiley..." He drops his jaw. "You cannot be serious."

"It doesn't hurt that bad. It's only because the back of my shoe has worn away. I'm getting new ones soon."

"You're limping, for fuck sake."

"I'm fine," I insist.

Will stops walking, folding his arms to make a statement. "I won't let you limp all the way home."

"I'm not taking off my shoes."

"I'll carry you."

I widen my eyes and back away. "No way. That's embarrassing."

"Everything embarrasses you."

"This is extra embarrassing."

He raises his eyebrows, refusing to give up. "Well, it seems we're in a little pickle, because I am not letting you walk home in pain. Either I carry you, or you can wear my shoes."

"Your shoes are way too big, and I'm not letting you walk barefoot."

When I take note of the grin on his face and realise he will never in a million years allow me to be in pain, I slump my shoulder and sigh.

"You're not doing the fireman's lift."

"I'll carry you bridal style," he compromises.

Already feeling the embarrassment, I try not to grimace my face. Will is snorting with laughter at my reaction while he slightly crouches and reaches under my legs and arms. I hoop my arms around his neck as he walks me home, not once showing any struggle in his expression.

"Well...this is fun," he teases.

I can't help my smile that pulls on my cheeks, deepening my smile lines. Will always has the ability to soften the world around me. He helps me to live and do all the things that I'm usually too shy and embarrassed to do — such as being carried down the street by the boy I like.

"You really didn't have to do this. I'm fine-"

"I want to," he mocks me.

My eyes roll in a playful manner, though I'm actually enjoying the close proximity of Will and I. His body is warm and comfortable, soft, safe.

I want to kiss him again, but I'm not too fond of public affection, so I hold back and gain control. I'd much rather keep that stuff between us. That way, it's special. That way, no one else can ruin it. The last thing I want is to parade whatever we are for the entire world to see. I don't want birthday posts or cute couples photos being posted on the internet for everyone to look at and judge.

I want this just for us.

No one else matters.

Will props me down on my front door step so I can unlock the door and allow us to enter. As soon as we're inside and my shoes have been slid off, he insists that we wash the wound and cover it with a plaster. It sounds exhausting to do, but I take him into the kitchen and get out the first aid kit. He helps me by wiping the tiny cut with a wipe and then carefully pressing a plaster against it.

It feels bizarre to have someone care for me in this way. My family cares for me, I know that, but never to this extent. They use their words, whereas Will uses his actions.