Ghost of You

s i x t e e n

It's an odd feeling to be holding hands with someone you're supposed to hate. 

Having sex with someone is supposed to be one of the most private and intimate acts one person can share with another and yet somehow, you can still have sex with someone that you hate, even a perfect stranger. Steve and I had proved that fact many times over. But holding hands? Steve's palm had met mine, his fingers weaving through my own. Every once in a while he would squeeze his fingers around mine and sweep his thumb across the back of my hand, a gentle pressure that I think was meant to remind me that he was there, that he was there for me. 

Somehow this action felt more personal and more intimate than anything we had ever done before. The feeling of his fingers laced with mine felt almost scandalous and improper. This left me struggling to wrap my head around the idea that holding hands could feel too private and too confidential of an action to share with a man who had been inside of me multiple nights a week for the past month. 

None of this however was enough to make me pull my hand from his. None of this was enough to make me unwrap my fingers clutched tightly to his. The touch of his skin against mine replaced the ghost of the metal dagger that these same fingers had held onto only moments ago. His humanity intersected with my own, pulling me away from the alloy darkness and back into the living and breathing light.

Our hands stayed tied together as we crossed the gym and as we made our way through the maze of hallways. Soon we found ourselves once again outside of my room. Our hands stayed together then too, even when I used my free hand to open the door. It wasn't until after I had pulled him inside the room and into the private bath that was connected to it that I let go. I reached under the sink where I kept my first aid kit, plopping it on the sink counter. Standing up from the crouched position I was in, I turned around so I was facing Steve. I placed my hands on the counter behind me, hoisting myself up so I was sitting on the edge then motioned for him to come closer. Steve took a few lazy steps forward until he stood in between my legs. From this seat I was almost eye level with Steve. If I had wanted to, I could have looked him directly in the eye, for once, without having to tilt up my chin to meet his gaze. But I didn't want to. Instead, I kept my head down, beginning to dig through the first aid kit. 

"You don't have to do that (Y/n)." He said. "It's not even bleeding any more."

His hand came to rest on my knee, his thumb brushing against it lightly, similar to the way he had been doing when we were holding hands. Other than a slight shake of my head, I didn't respond. Instead I pulled out an antiseptic from the kit, screwing off the cap and grabbing a spare Q-tip. He grabbed my wrist just as I was about to dip the Q-tip in the cleaning solution, momentarily stopping my progress. 

"Really sweetheart, I'm much more concerned about whatever is going on with you than cleaning up my arm." 

Against my better judgement I looked up into his eyes, not being able to hide the pleading expression I knew would be there. There was so much damage done by the those daggers. Damage to me, Damage to others. Damage that I'd never be able to fix and would probably never heal properly. The cut on his arm, the cut I had put there... it could still be fixed. 

"Just let me do this, okay?" I asked quietly. "I need to do at least this much."

He sighed but acquiesced, relinquishing his hold on my wrist. I continued to dip the Q-tip in the disinfectant, making sure it was coated before lifting it up to Steve's arm. I gently pulled his torn sleeve up so that I could get a better look at the scratch there. Steve was right, it wasn't that bad, but I didn't stop what I was doing. 

"I'm sorry about your shirt. I can buy you a new one." I offered, rolling the cotton against the scratch.

"Don't bother, I don't like it very much. It's definitely not my color." He gives me a tentative smile and I surprised myself by giving him one back. Self-deprecating humor was a specialty of mine but I'd never seen Steve make a joke at his own expense before. I think he did it to try and cheer me up, but that didn't really fit in the normal dynamics of our relationship so I couldn't be sure. I could never be sure with Steve.