Page 14 of Soul of a Psycho

I used that excuse a couple of times. I’m more convinced someone pushed her, but I can’t figure out why. What would enigmatic Sky be bullied for? Unless beingtoopretty has put a target on her back. I wouldn’t put it past this place.

I grab her wrist in a vise grip before she can pull away, and stretch her arm out to examine the damage.

“Ow!” she cries.

“I thought you were fine?” I deadpan and look around for something to clean the wound with.

“I am!”

“Sure,” I say, and snag a bottle of peroxide. I flip the cap with my teeth, hard pressed to let her out of my hold, and squeeze the bottle onto her arm. It splashes and soaks the paper on the exam table, mixing with the blood and creating rivulets of pink.

“My skirt!” she complains.

“You want to take it off?” My eyes whip to hers in a dare.

Her lip falls open for a second, but then she narrows her eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” I say a little harshly, and set the bottle down to grab some gauze.

She huffs, but lets me clean up the astringent and blood. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Treating her wound is pointless when she’ll eventually succumb to a worse fate. It’s like mopping up water without fixing the leak. This is stupid, but I can’t help myself.

She watches me quietly, and I hold my breath while I slide the gauze up and down her skin, not missing a single drop. I’m aware of her soft breaths on the side of my face, and I try to hide behind my hair to avoid feeling her eyes on my skin. I feel exposed without my hood on, especially so close to someone.

When I finish, I grimace.

“You’re going to need stitches.” I finally let her go and step away to pull open a drawer and get some needed air. The needles are around her somewhere.

“You aren’t… You aren’t giving me stitches,” she says, but she doesn’t sound confident, and instead her voice is laced with fear.

“Just three,” I estimate. I had to give myself twelve while hunched over a youtube video. She can handle three.

I hear her shift on the paper, but she doesn’t make to leave.

“Cade,” she warns.

“Sky,” I sigh, and spot the sutures.

“Cade, I’m serious.”

“Me too.”

“You can’t just give me stitches.”

“Why not?” I turn around with a fresh needle.

Her eyes widen, and I smirk. She was so tough last night when I held a knife, but a little needle has her shrinking?

“Because you aren’t a doctor.”

I shrug. Doctors are just people who have a piece of paper. I gave myself stitches and I’m fine. Besides, I trust my own solidhands with her skin before I would trust Mrs. Cathway’s brittle and shaking ones.

I pull the little steel table closer, and peel open the needle.

“Donotcome near me with that,” she says.

“It doesn’t even hurt,” I lie, a sick part of me excited to see her squirm under my pierce. She’s a thorn in my ass, and a dose of her own medicine seems like a fair punishment. And if she was really against it, she would run… right?

“Just be still.”

---