Introspective Strangers [h.s.]

Chapter 3

But there was no pain. Or hardly any, anyway.

Harry was very gentle as he cautiously put his fingers underneath the back of my hand, turning my exposed palm over to take a better look at the damage. He gently ran the pads of his fingers over top of the red that bloomed from my knuckles.

I had a sudden urge to laugh. It was quite funny to think that the man I had punched was now inspecting the injury that I only acquired from said assault. I decided to keep that thought to myself though because I didn't want to risk pissing him off again – especially with my bruised hand laying helpless in his palms.

"Does this hurt?" Harry asked and softly spread my index and pinky finger apart. I winced slightly, and he stopped the action as quickly as he had started it. "Not that badly," I said.

"Mm." He nodded and brought his fingers back to the top of my hand. "Would you tell me if it hurt badly?"

I paused for a split second and quickly replied, "Yes." The defensiveness in my voice was apparent and I pretended to cough.

Harry just shook his hand and chuckled, carefully closing both of his hands over mine.

"You may have been right. I don't think that it's broken, maybe sprained because of how fast the swelling came on and the fact that it's pretty hot where the bruise is," I nodded my head as he spoke, grateful that I at least wouldn't have to scramble to the hospital after he left. "You should be fine as long as you continue to ice and elevate it."

"Thanks... Shit. Where did my icepack end up?" I asked, remembering all too quickly that I had sent it flying across the room.

"I'll grab it," Harry said and got up off his knees.

As soon as he stood, I noticed blood all over the front of his shirt. I didn't get a good enough look at it before he turned away from me and can't tell if it's old or from just now, considering he had left the cloth behind to come and examine my hand.

When he returned, he had both the cloth and icepack in his hands. I glanced at his nose and was grateful to see that the blood had stopped pouring from his nostrils. Unfortunately, the entire injury in itself seemed a lot more swollen and sunken shadows had now arisen under his left eye.

Fuck. Did I give him a black eye too?

"Uh – you can just put them in there," I said, motioning to the sink.

Harry nodded and placed the items gently down on the stainless steel. "You should wrap your hand." He muttered. "Just to keep it in place."

"I don't have anything to wrap it with. I think it'll be fine though. I'll just keep it iced and elevated like you said," I told him and quickly added, "Thank you."

He didn't respond and instead leaned against the counter to look at me, yawning as he did. I glanced over at the clock and almost choked. It was nearly 4:00 A.M. When did it get to be that late?

"I guess I'll go then." he said and I wasn't sure what to do or how to respond. I looked down at my hands, wishing I could wring them together.

"Okay, yeah. Do you live far?" I asked out of courtesy, not really caring if he did or not, but when he answered, that same pang of guilt racked through me.

"Around an hour bus ride." He shrugged.

I swallowed. Ugh. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

My inner self was screaming – no, hollering at me to just let him go. Let him take the hour bus ride home, this was not my problem. I shouldn't care that he had to take that long commute at 4:00 A.M and that it could be dangerous – especially in this area... He probably would've done it anyway if he had been at the club. But what if he was supposed to stay with his friends tonight? And now wasn't because I fucking punched him and dragged him here?