Finding Lena | ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Three

I put my arm over his shoulders and grip his hand, while my other arm wraps around his waist. I heave him to the door, and manage to unlock it single-handedly. Flicking the light on in the hall, I half-drag him to the kitchen table and plonk him gently onto the chair.

I run back out again and come back in a second later with the brown bag from the drug store.

"I'm gonna need you to get on the table," I say.

Hesitantly, he nods, climbs onto the hard surface, and lies down, his back facing the ceiling. I shovel the contents of the bags onto the breakfast bar nearby, and then jog to the sink where I fill a cup with water.

I hurriedly move to a cupboard to my right and pull out a jar of salt. I drop a small amount of the salt into the cup, and mix, before dunking a cloth into the solution.

Stepping back over to him, his head resting on his crossed arms, he looks up as I mumble, "This may sting a little."

The second I place the cloth onto his back, he cries out in pain. His fists clench, the veins popping out of his arms, but he doesn't move to jump off the table.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and grits his teeth.

I want to cry. Plain and simple.

Witnessing someone you care about in pain, pain so excruciatingly agonising, is one of the hardest things to ever have to see.

I clutch his hand, and he squeezes mine, but I don't even flinch. I press the cloth over his damaged skin and he yells out, gripping my hand harder.

It feels like hours until I'm done with the cloth. I run my hand through his hair as he looks up at me through his eyelashes, eyes worn. "Is it over?"

I warily shake my head and move to the breakfast bar, where I pick up a bottle of Betadine.

"This is going to hurt a bit."

"You said that the last time," he croaks, resting his forehead back onto his folded arms.

"I'm sorry, Caleb," I say, before coating a new cloth with the Betadine.

I place it over his many wounds, and he cries out again, and I move it over each mark. It needs to be cleaned before I can cover them up, but I'm not sure all the pain he's experiencing is even worth it.

Once I'm finished, I chuck the cloth to the side and place my hand onto the back of his neck, smoothing my hand over his skin reassuringly.

He glances up, looking utterly broken. "Now is it over?"

I nod, and collect the tape and gauzes while he sighs in relief.

I place a gauze over each of the wounds, some of the cloths covering multiple marks, and then begin to tape them up.

"How did you learn to do that?" he murmurs, not looking up.

"My mom taught me when my dad was still alive. One day, I fell out of that tree in the woods. Jace went to get my mom and she did the same thing to a cut I got on my leg."

"Well, thank you," he says, finally meeting my gaze.

I smile reassuringly and place the final bit of tape over a gauze on the small of his back.

He sits up on the table while I make a quick journey to the car to get his duffel bag. Once I'm back, I pull out a fresh shirt and hand it to him.

He slips it over his head, and his head melts in his hands. He breathes deeply, and lifts his head, hands running through his hair.

Caleb stands up, wincing slightly.

He watches me while I watch him. After a minute or two, I move into his arms as he stretches them out, and I hug him.

His hands wrap around my waist and mine around his neck.

We don't kiss. We don't talk. We don't move our hands or run our fingers through each other's hair.

We don't need to do any of that.

Because this hug means more than that.

This hug doesn't mean, I want you.

It means, I need you.