I'm Your Wreck

19- I Didn't Mean That

My knuckles were still sore two days later, even though the incident was seemingly forgotten about for the most part. Jordan and Tory seemed to help console Banks after we got back to the house as Ollie helped ice my hand, his own body shaking with anger at the incident once he'd learned what happened.

It would have surprised me to see Ollie so angry if I didn't feel that same burning rage inside of myself.

The weekend before Thanksgiving break, Walker convinced us to let him invite his LARPing buddies over for a party. Banks and I had a sports marketing exam to study for, but figured Walker's friends wouldn't get too rowdy and we'd be able to study in Banks's room.

However, after only ten minutes of sitting at his desk rereading the same question with the sound of elven chants going on under our feet, I gave up.

"I can't focus," I admitted out loud.

"Me either," Banks said. "Let's try your room? Maybe the extra floor of space will make it bearable."

I doubted that we could both fit in my bedroom comfortably to study, but the alternative was to go to the library, which was closing in an hour.

So I led Banks up the stairs to the third floor where there was a small landing and then a single door already open because I was the only person that ever went up there.

"Wow," he said in a low breath as he took a look around the place. "This is seriously tiny."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "You can take the desk."

I sat on the edge of the bed and then sat my laptop on the mattress beside me, feeling very thankful that I cleaned up a couple of days ago. I had a Chelsea poster above my desk, along with some pictures of me with Quinn or my friends. Banks gave the pictures a curious perusing before settling in.

When he turned to face me, we sat so close that our knees bumped together.

"Describe the four components of a SWOT analysis," I read the next question on the study guide as I absently picked at the scab on my middle knuckle, the only one that broke skin when I punched that asshole in the jaw.

Banks's eyes drifted toward the scab a moment before he reached out to run his own hand across my knuckles as if checking for any possible damage. "Does it still hurt?" he asked with his lips pinched together.

"No," I said, which felt like a lie. Most of the time, my hand was fine. Whenever I tried to make a fist though, a few tendons in my fingers complained at the stretch.

Releasing my hand, his eyes met mine. "Have you ever punched somebody before?"

I shook my head to the side. "But I think I did okay, for my first time."

"Yeah, you broke his face," he said with only a twitch of a smile, but then his voice got somewhat hard. "Hopefully, it's your first and last. I don't want you putting yourself in danger for me, Liam."

We could still hear the LARPers through the floor, listening to folky music and arguing about something that was too muffled by the house to be distinguishable. It didn't seem to be too heated, since most of the passionate claims seemed to be followed by streams of laughter.

"I... I didn't know what else to do," I mumbled with my head down.

"I know it's hard to ignore comments like that. Trust me, I know," he said, looking down at his lap now as he ran fingers through his black curls. "But it can get really dangerous. Say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and you're suddenly the next Matthew Shepard."

I could feel my jaw working itself to the side, clenched and struggling until I finally said, "You're right." And I didn't say anything else, even though there were so many things on my tongue.