7: Cold Against My Skin

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"Sam." I didn't know why I said his name, because it only caused my throat to flare up in pain once more. But I just wanted to feel the syllable on my tongue, and I was relieved when he looked at me. Because before, his expression was distant and his eyes were clouded over. As much as it was crazy for me to admit, I was worried that maybe he had a concussion or something.

He didn't respond, just standing up and holding out a hand for me to take. It was a weird experience in almost every way, because I never thought of him as the type of person to offer me help before. But there we were, both in pain and complete disarray. I allowed him to pull me to my feet, and we stood in front of each for a long moment.

Sam was looking at me closely, as though searching for something that only he could find. Then he closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead. His head was clearly hurting, which was not at all shocking judging by the sheer amount of bruises he had managed to accumulate. So I put an arm around his waist to keep him from possibly collapsing. I wouldn't have been that shocked if he did.

We walked like that back to Sam's car, only separating when it came time for us to get inside. I left Sam at the passenger door, because I didn't want him to drive if he really did have some sort of head injury. My own head was pounding, but I could tolerate it.

He didn't protest me driving his car, and neither of us spoke a word on the way back to his house. It was a surreal experience. There was no other way to put it. But I was scared that Sam was more hurt than he was letting on, and I didn't know what to do about that. Going to the hospital would then lead to our parents getting involved, and then it could even end with the police. There was no way I was going to be able to talk Sam into going with a risk like that.

Fortunately, we were close to his home. I parked and went around to his side of the car. I didn't know if he needed my help, but I really didn't want him to be too dizzy to walk properly, so I supported him anyway. Again, he didn't try to stop me.

He unlocked the door and locked it once more behind us. Then I allowed him to take some form of precedence, since I didn't really know the layout of his house. He guided the both of us over to a door near the staircase. Light filled the room to accompany the sound of the switch.

There was a huge walk-in shower that was as big as a sauna, accompanied by a marble backsplash. A vanity that could fit all of my belongings inside, with a mirror stretching the length of the wall. I ignored all of that though, forcing Sam to sit down on the toilet lid.

The blood was drying to his face, gruesome and brutal on someone who was usually sought out by every girl in school. I wanted to wipe it off, because it didn't belong there. I wished that I could take the bruises along with it. Sam looked better when his face was his own and not marred by fists.

I pushed that thought away.

Maybe I just wanted to focus on something else. I wanted a sense of purpose to keep me from drowning in the seriousness of everything happening. So I grabbed a folded washcloth hung near the sink, getting it damp with warm water. Then I turned back to Sam, using the cloth to gently wipe the blood from his face.

It was weirdly intimate, to be standing over him, making sure to be as soft with my touch as possible because I didn't want to press too hard and hurt him more. Removing the blood from his eye and cheek, off of his chin and lips.

Once I finished with that, I lowered the washcloth. Sam was pretty. Everyone knew it, and I wasn't stupid, so I knew it too. But I never really wanted to preserve his beauty in my mind before.

His eyes were framed by thick blonde eyelashes, his eyebrows unruly but kempt. His nose wasn't perfectly sloped, instead interrupted by a bump along the ridge. His lips were heart shaped, just like his smile. He had a few dark specks on his face, birthmarks that he would bear for his entire life. The imperfection of it only made him more beautiful.

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