bexley makes him :) even if he still isn't sure what that means
Chapter Thirty-One
I opened my eyes to see the waving treetops above me. The sky was a light blue, and everything smelled wet and new. My head pounded, and my body felt as though I had been hit by multiple cars, and left for dead.
I slowly turn my head, Cousin was sitting beside me, his eyes were intently on mine, and I realized that he was coated blood.
His face had blood splatters, and his hands and clothes were covered in a thick layer of dried blood. Was he hurt?
Panic seized my being, and I forced myself to sit up. Everything went black for several moments and there was a loud ringing in my ears as I waited for my bruised body to adapt to a sitting position.
I was so damn sore. Not just sore, a part of me was numb. I glanced down at my hand, seeing a large, blue bruise all the way up my arm when I had landed on a rock in the water.
It hurt so bad, it didn't hurt at all. Numb. I was numb to it.
I forced my attention back to Cousin, and examined him more thoroughly, "Are you hurt?" I managed to say, even though my tongue was dry, and I was desperate for something to drink. Every breath I took felt like a punch, and I don't think I had any broken ribs, but damn I felt like the physical embodiment of a bruise.
He blinked at me, "You are hurt."
"You're covered in blood. What happened? Was it the dog?" My heart was pounding, and I reached out to observe him. He can't be hurt. If he was hurt I couldn't help him, I don't even think I can stand. I don't cry. I refuse to let myself panic. I must be calm, even if every fiber in my being was on fire.
"Yes." His voice lowered to a whisper, as he shifted to avoid my touch, "The dog."
"Oh my god." I say trying to see where the bite was, while desperately attempting to look like I was definitely not in pain. I don't want to scare him any further. "Where did it bite you?"
"It didn't."
I pause. "It didn't?"
He slowly shook his head. That's when it hit me. The blood wouldn't be dry like this if he was wounded. A wound that produces that much blood wouldn't dry out quickly on it's own.
I stare at him, and for several seconds we say nothing. He has never been violent before, and yet; "Did you hurt the dog?"
He says nothing, but there's a defiant look in his gaze, a look that is challenging me to question him. "I killed the dog."
"Oh." My heart was racing, my fear of him being hurt was still wavering in my mind. "Are you sure you aren't hurt?"
He stares at me so intently, and oddly honest, "I am not hurt."
I'm grateful he dared to even answer me. That's the most he's said to me in a while and I was happy for it. As long as he was okay, I knew things couldn't be that bad.
I won't dwell on him claiming he killed the animals. I won't think about that until later. My next step was to figure out just how long I had been out. "Do you know how long I was unconscious?" I ask him, but he doesn't respond, he only continues his staring, as if he were thinking of a million things that were not the answer to my question.
Ok. That's fine. I examine my surroundings. We were beside a creek, the water was rushing wildly, and that would explain why my clothes were so cold and wet.
"Did it get dark?" I ask him, praying he'd respond.
He blinks at me for a second, and then nods once.
"So I was out all night?"
Another smaller nod.
Fuck. Katie was going to kill me. She must have already called the police. Which means there might be people searching for us right now.
"We need to get back to the path." I say, grabbing a nearby tree to help me stand up. I wasn't even sure if I could walk, but I was desperate to try.
I could feel him staring at me as I attempted to pull my weight, but my legs shook, and a quick flash of pain shot through my body when I tried to let go of the tree. I drop to the floor the moment my hands lifted from the tree, my right leg in particular, felt stiff and bruised.
I bite my lip to keep myself from crying out. Everything swirls around me, and I know now that getting back to the path wouldn't be as easy as I had first assumed.
"I can't." I frown, hating what I had to say, "I can't stand."
He stares at me, his eyes assessing my position, and I feel embarrassed. I don't know why I do, but I can't stop myself from feeling the rushing humiliation all throughout my body.
I don't want him to see me so weak. He has never seen me stumble, and I never want him to.
I shake my head, gritting my teeth through the pain, I try again to stand, and I feel my legs struggle to hold me up. I gasp as I straighten my right leg, the pain is excruciating, and I feel my eyes watering up.
I begin to fall, but a sudden hand reaches out and grips my arm, forcing me back against the tree for stabilization.
I look over at Cousin, whose pale arm is held out in front of him, his hand still wrapped around my arm, pressing it against my body as I'm pushed against the tree.
I stare at him, wide-eyes and his eyes look as equally big. He stares at his hand, as if even he can't comprehend why he actually reached out to touch me. I don't think he has ever initiated touch. Suddenly, I forget about the pain in my body, as I lean against the tree for support, I only concentrate on the boy in front of me.
He doesn't let go of me, in fact the longer we stare at each other, the tighter his grip becomes. I think he has surprised himself, and I don't know if it's a good thing or not.
"Cousin?" I try to distract him, because I see the fear in his eyes. I see how he stares at his hand, the hand wrapped around my arm, like it is a foreign object to him. Even through the fabric of me sleeve, I feel his cold of his skin.
Instead of letting go, he digs his nails into my arm, and pulls me towards him. It's a quick, awkward movement, like he's repulsed, and scared to do so. I stumbled forward, and he uses both his hands to keep me standing. One hand still around my arm, the other snaked around my torso.
His arms are wrapped around my body, it feels unnatural, but I can not stop dwelling on it.
I don't think he can either.
A few steps towards the path, his confidence in holding me up seemed to increase, and he gripped me tighter, and stood a bit straighter, allowing me to lean even more on him, until he was my only stability. Each step we took felt like I was getting stabbed. Every movement of my leg made my eyes tear up, and my breathing to increase.
I was in so much pain.
We begin to ascend up the hill, back towards the path.
I hadn't noticed the tree root sticking out of the ground until my foot hit it, making me fall forward. Cousin braced himself as both his arms coiled around my waist, in a quick movement, keeping me standing.
He was holding onto me, he wasn't freaking out.
No longer was I the one to keep him standing, but rather he was the one helping me. It was an odd change, something I never considered he'd be bold enough to do.
I try not to focus on my pain, nor do I want to think too much about the fact that Cousin's arms were very tightly wrapped around my waist. Instead, I try to think about Katie, and how the hell I'd be able to convince her all of this was an accident, and not me being stupid and running away again.
I'm suddenly reminded of my mother, and the dread bubbles in my chest at the thought.
I forgot about her.
Cousin suddenly stops, breaking me from my thoughts, I look over at him, and notice he's staring ahead. His eyes are narrowed, and the hold he has around me, loosens, and then, just like that, he lets go of me entirely.
I grab a nearby tree before I fall down. I open my mouth to ask what was wrong, but my eyes follow his gaze, and I realize, there are people walking towards us, two men. Their eyes widen when they notice us, and they begin shouting for our names.
Police, they are police, and they were searching for us.
I release a long breath, and lean back on the tree. Cousin tenses, his unreadable demeanor molding into a shielded guard. A look of intense irritation transforms his expression. He, despite our position, was not pleased to see anyone else.
It was almost as if, he preferred us alone, even if I was in pain, and he was covered in dried animal blood.
I don't have the energy to respond to them, and when they finally make it to us, they call in backup, and begin to investigate Cousin first, since he did look far words than me with the blood all over his clothes.
One of them reaches out to examine him, and Cousin takes such a quick step back, his eyes darkened, and his hands clenched to fists. He looked like some defensive animal, ready to bite.
I quickly tell them that he's fine, and it's not his blood. As they check over me, I explain everything that happened, the dog, the fall, and us trying to get back up to the path. I tell them I'm so sore, I can barely stand, and the bigger of the two men asks permission to pick me up.
I awkwardly nod, and he moves an arm under my knees, and another under my arm. He picks me up, and we all begin to move back to the path. I stare over at Cousin, who follows, his eyes locked on the man holding me. He looks absolutely enraged, and I can't fathom what makes him click like that. One minute he's fine, the moment someone else comes along, he looks like he could rip their heads off and nail them to a tree.
An hour later, and with several more police, many of them taking turns carrying me, we return back to the beginning of the path, Katie and Jace both waiting near a line of police cars. The first thing I notice is how dirty they looked, and how tired they both were.
The moment Katie's eyes landed on me, she shouted my name, her eyes filled with tears. She runs up to me, "Oh my God, Bexley."
I had a strange familiar feeling that we've already been through this before, as I try to tell her I'm okay. When I stare back at Cousin, her gaze travels to him too, and her gasp is audible, "What the hell happened to him?"
"A dog." I say.
"Is he okay?" She's smart enough not to touch him, and I nod my head, "The dog isn't."
There were paramedics, running up to us, and I was placed in an ambulance despite my protests. "Don't listen to her." Katie snaps at them, "She's seventeen, I'm her sister, she has no say."
Seventeen. I am seventeen. How strange the last few months have been.
"Don't touch him." I tell one of the paramedics, who wants to look over Cousin, and attempts to ask him if he was alright, "He doesn't like to be touched."
They nod, respectfully. And as soon as the doors to the ambulance are slammed shut, we begin our destination to the hospital.
I stare at Cousin who is looking around the ambulance with curiosity, but every time one of the paramedics try to ask me something, his attention it snapped back to me, and he looks angry.
I stare at him, the blood on his shirt, and the few red splatters on the side of his face. I want to reach up and wipe the dried blood off, and, to my surprise, I do. I reach up, and attempt to wipe the blood off. He lets me, his eyes stuck on mine.
For a few minutes, it is like we are entirely alone, and I see the rage dissipate from his expression.
He is my comfort, and I think, at this moment, I am his.