His long legs were eating up the ground, impossible to keep up with. Especially since my side was burning like someone had smothered it with oil and thrown a lighter at me.
"Bwhy are byou running so bfast?" I whined.
"This isn't fast."
"Slow dobwn."
"Is that swelling going down at all?" He asked, going to sit on a low brick wall in the car park. Sitting, the white light from the store made him look even paler than usual, washing his skin out.
"Yes," I said, finding it was now just a small egg.
"Okay. Keep it on."
"I am."
He gestured to the wall next to him, and I hoisted myself up with the empty hand, feeling a sharp pain on my side. Julian's eyes caught my wince.
"Maybe we should have bought the other pack of peas."
"Bno," I shook my head, "bit's fine."
He sat closer than I'd expect, only half a foot between us. It was quiet, chilly.
Then he was rummaging in the plastic bag.
"Bwhat are you doing?"
"Sorting your injuries."
"They're harbly injurbies."
Julian stared at me pointedly. "There is a gash in your eyebrow, blood crusted in your hair, a purple lump the size of a small golf ball on your lip, and scrapes all over your knees." He shook his curly head. "I don't want to know what your definition of injuries are if it's not this," he said, gesturing toward me.
I didn't know what to say; instead I just stared at him until his dark eyes flitted away.
"Bhe ice helbs."
"It should." His fingers tore through the packet of cloths. Then, he poured some liquid on it from a bottle. I watched, wide-eyed. "This is going to sting," he mumbled, shuffling closer.
I panicked.
"Do you want it to get infected?" He snapped.
I shook my head, then froze. My body locked, still as stone as Julian's face moved closer, his hand poised over my face with the cloth.
I could tell he was trying not to catch my eye. Breath coming in short puffs, I looked to the store. For a second Julian hesitated, then the cloth was pressed to my eyebrow.
It burned. I tried not to look at him, but the pain prickled over my eye, down my face.
He dabbed lightly, lighter than I would have thought him capable of. When I found his eyes, he didn't tell me to look away.
Concentrating on his face made it feel better. Focusing on the curls plastered sweatily to his forehead, the furrow in between his brows, the way his lip curled down in concentration.
He didn't seem real.
I tried not to flinch. "You don't have to be brave," he sighed, moving away. "I'm going to kill those idiots. . ." It was muttered under his breath, probably not meant for me to hear.
"It doesnb't hurb thabt bad."
His lip twitched, "really?"
"Bno," I said with a half smile. "Hurbts like a bibtch."
Julian sniggered, moving closer to dab the blood-stained cloth some more. "It was an interesting stunt you pulled with the car the other day."
I knew he was trying to distract me. "Hmmb."
"Very sly, very quick."
"Was meanbt to be like thabt."
"I didn't expect it."
I laughed breathlessly, and regretted it immediately.
"You're not making much noise."
"Do you wanbt me bto cry?"
He shook his head, seemingly in disbelief, while wetting another cloth. "I expected you to."
"Whabt? Cry?" He shook his head again, rolled his shoulders back before grabbing behind my knee and pulling.
"Hey!" I yelped, dropping the bag of peas. They hit the ground with a crunchy thud. "Whabt are you doing?!" I asked, picking up the peas and ignoring the pain.
"Cleaning your knees?"
Face red, I tried to snatch the wet cloth. "I can do thabt."
"Why? You're on frozen pea duty. Get that back on your mouth." He reached down again, fingers wrapping behind my knee. I jerked it away, hyper-aware of the softness around it, refusing to vanish even after puberty had hit and done its work. Looking up, his dark eyes were exasperated. "What are you doing?"
My face was hot. "I'll clean ibt."
"Why are you being fussy? Is this about me being a pervert again?"
"Bno."
"Then what?" We stared at each other, heart hammering, but I could see he wasn't giving up. Sighing, I shoved the ice pack on my mouth and watched nervously as he hoisted my legs onto his lap.
Good job they were so long, so I didn't have to move closer. Long and heavy.
I searched his face, bent over my knees, for any sign of discomfort. But he just carried on dabbing.
"Painful?"
"Nobt too bad."
"Mouth?"
"Nobt too bad." He chuckled, looking up. When he did, his eyes were brown, unguarded.
I stared, and they grew cold. "Your knees are clean," he said, and I half expected him to throw them off. But he handled them carefully, placing them down.
"Just some plasters now," he said, throwing three at me. When I went to put them on my knees, I heard a grunt. "Cream first."
I caught that, too. Smearing some on, I smoothed down the plasters. As I did, he commented, "no glasses?"
"Bnot tonighbt."
"Are you wearing contacts to school now?"
"Bno." I was confused by his question.
"Right."
"You must be disappoinbted to see bthem again, since they're so hibeous."
He shook his head. "Shut up before your lip starts bleeding again."
When it came to the eyebrow gash, I could put the cream on, but I had trouble with finding the right place for the plaster.
Julian sighed, taking the plaster off me and putting one hand on the back of my head, placing the plaster on with the other. He went to move back, but I caught his eye.
"Bthank you," I whispered.
He stared for a moment, eyes wide, before leaning away and jumping down. "I expect to be paid back."
"You bwill be," I jumped down too. "Do you wanbt the peas?"
He scowled.
"I'll take that as a no. . ."
"Come on," he gestured impatiently to the car, "it's late."
There was a strange, suppressed atmosphere hanging over us. Ignoring the hammering of my heart, still wild from feeling his hands on me, I followed him to the car.
Once inside, he lit a cigarette and pulled out of the car park smoothly, with one hand.
Smoke blew out of the window as he took a drag. "How much was ibt?"
"18," he muttered. It was quiet then. Maybe I should have been in shock over having just been attacked, but his presence, so close, calmed me somehow. Especially when he wasn't being a magnificent dick.
"Where's your house?" He asked after five minutes.
House. My house. Eyes flying wide, I gripped the seat. "Fuck!"
"What? What?"
"Fuck," I groaned. "My parenbts are going to kill me!"
Julian laughed breathlessly, shifting gear. "That's it?"
"Thabt's it?" I cried. "Nobt with my parenbts, it's nobt."
"Overprotective?"
"You habve no idea."
My eyes found the dashboard clock, chest clenching at the time: 12:20am. "Screw me."
"I'd rather not."
His voice was far away as I started sweating. "I'm getting killed."
"It won't be that bad."
"Look abt me!" He looked, frowning, smoking.
"You don't look like you've just had harmless diner fun."
"No shibt."
His mouth twitched. "Can't you just tell the truth? You were attacked?"
"Bhe plasters?"
"You went and bought them."
"Wibth no money?"
He glanced over at me, running a hand through unruly curls. They looked the darkest they'd ever been, in the black night. A huff escaped his lips. "You had no money at all?"
"Bno." I sighed, stressed. "Bwhy wouldnb't I just go home anybway?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Bwaht?"
His soft mouth twisted. "Why didn't you go home? Why were you wandering the streets at night? I told you about the curfew."
"I got lost. Phone died."
The muscles in his forearm tensed, like his hands around the wheel. "I'll get you home, but my responsibility ends there."
"Resbponsibilibty?" The word tasted bitter.
"Yeah," he said, like it was obvious. Thick smoke blew in his face, covering his eyes.
"You feel resbponsible for me?"
"Why else would I spend $18 on plasters for a weirdo like you?" My heart twisted, more painful than my still-swollen lip. More painful than any of the injuries.
Embarrassment flooded me. Why else would he do it? Looking out of the window, at the streetlights speeding by in white and orange blurs, all I wanted to do was leap out of the car. Mumbling my road name, I didn't reply when he asked how my stomach was.
Finally, he pulled up. "What number are you?"
I stayed quiet, opening the door.
"I asked--"
"I know what you asked," I snapped, pushing my hair back so I had a clear view of him, twisted toward my side of the car, eyes wide. "Just go, Julian."
"What?"
Slamming the door hard, I walked down the dark street.
"Brooke!" I heard him holler, and the engine start. Foolishly, I thought maybe he was going to pull up next to me, but that hope drowned as he sped by. The rectangular lights on the back of the classic flashed red at the end of my road, before disappearing around the corner.
Trudging home, I was so full of humiliation and pain that I had no room left for fear as I opened the front door. All the lights were off, but I wasn't stupid.
Stepping inside, I closed the door. A voice emerged from the darkness; "and what time do you call--" The lights flickered on, exposing the disaster that I was. "Oh my God!"