Page 70 of A Bond with the Dark

But there’s something about his aura tonight that makes me worry for him. Something has unsettled him, and I need to be by him, to make sure he’s all right.

Before I open the sliding screen door, he turns around.

His eyes are revelatory and achingly guileless.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, and turns quickly, wiping his face.

I wrap my arms around him, holding him, kissing his shoulders.

It’s not clear as to what’s making him so sad, but there’s something about his sadness that’s resounding, and he’s wearing it like armor. It’s like the sadness I carry for mama. It cracks me open, revealing a part of me that resonates with his agony.

“What’s the matter?” I ask him softly.

There’s a slight sniffle and then he speaks. “There are some things in my past that you don’t know, Say. Things I don’t wanna talk about right now. I will one day, I promise. But not right now.” The way he’s talking is controlled, as though it’s taking great effort to keep it steady.

There’s a secret he’s keeping from me, that’s a definite. I can feel that he doesn’t want to discuss it any further, and the least I can do is hold him and let him know I’m here for him.

As I slither around to slink under his arms and hold him from the front, there’s a sharp pain in my foot.

“Ouch,” I cry out and lift my leg to see that the bottom of my foot has been sliced open by the piece of glass that fell last night when I dropped before we fucked.

At the sight of blood, I become faint. It’s not the blood; it’s the gash. I did okay with all the cancer shit I’d gone through, but gashes, no. I don’t do well with gashes.

I hobble over to the chairs and sit, feeling faint.

“Oh, jesus, Sayah, here. Let me grab something.”

He runs into the room and is out again within seconds.

How the hell did he do that so fast?

As he’s wrapping a towel around me, I swear his eyes grow a catlike shape, and his face contorts a bit before he turns away from me.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I hear him take a sharp intake of breath.

Steadily he replies, “Yes. Just squeamish.”

It takes a few lingering moments until he gathers composure enough to turn back around.

His face is back to normal, although he does seem a little pale.

Everything’s starting to feel like some weird dream I’ll wake from at any moment.

“You’re probably going to need stitches.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s a first aid kit in this penthouse somewhere. Wrap it up and call it good.”

Chuckling a bit he says, “Okay, tough girl.”

He scoops me up in his arms and deposits me inside on the crooked bed. He leaves me and rummages around the bathroom for a first aid kit.

“Ah-ha,” he shouts and runs back with gauze and Neosporin. “Dr. Sangravelli to the rescue.”

“Well hello there, doctor. I’m in need of medical attention.”

With our giggles, the mood immediately lightens, and I almost forget about his sadness.

I do not, however, forget the look that was in his eyes at the sight of blood.

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