Page 2 of Lunar Crest University

Suddenly, my phone is ripped from my hands, making me gasp in pain as it slides against the open skin.

“No hospitals,” he repeats with narrowed eyes, inches from my face.

I gulp.

He towers over my average height, making me feel not so average anymore as I crane my neck to peek up at him. He has to be over six feet. My body shakes from adrenaline pumping through my veins, and the cold seeps through my sweater. It travels to my core as I shiver uncontrollably.

“But—”

“Where do you live?” he interrupts in frustration, and his nostrils flare as he recoils.

I shake my head slowly at first, then quicker as I realize why he’s asking. “No, you’re not coming home with me. I’m not getting blamed for your murder when you bleed out in my apartment.”

“For fuck’s sake,where do you live?” he growls, gasping as he leans against the brick once more. “Ah, shit.”

“Why?” I squeak. “Are you going to bash my head in with a brick if I don’t tell you?”

He rolls his eyes, but not before losing his balance.

Without thinking,clearlywithout thinking, I reach out to catch him as he stumbles. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I hoist him up as best as I can, but I’ve misjudged just how burly this guy is. He’s a lot bigger than me, so I doubt I’m much help at all, and he hisses through his teeth as I accidentally hit his ribs.

“Around the corner,” I blurt, cursing myself as the words leave my mouth. “Let’s go before someone sees us or this guy wakes up. Unless you killed him.”

“He’ll live.”

Gripping his very defined hip, I heave him along as I limp awkwardly down the alleyway. He groans and grunts with every movement, his arm thrown over my shoulders and gently squeezing each time he shrinks in pain. Each squeeze reminds me just how crazy I am. Do I have a death wish? I must.

There won’t be anyone out on the streets at this time of night. There never is, but I still can’t help praying someone will peek out of their window and force him to let an ambulance take him to the hospital. I don’t know much about anything medical, so I don’t know what he expects to happen by coming home with me.

He is doomed.

I’mdoomed. He probably plans to murder me for being a witness to whatever illegal chaos was happening moments before I walked up on them.

It feels like it takes ages to round the corner and climb the steps toward my apartment lined up with the rest of the homes that pack the street. Sitting him down on the concrete slab next to my door, I dig through my bag to find the key with trembling hands before I struggle to drag him inside.

The tall lamp in the corner illuminates the living room, revealing the cozy beige that fills the apartment. I have one too many decorative pillows on the couch, a bin full of plush blankets, bookshelves lining the walls, and vanilla-scented candles that permanently stain the place with a warm fall smell. My apartment is my safe space.

Now, there is a bleeding man inside it.

I try not to freak out as I watch blood dot my carpet on the way to the bathroom, sighing weakly as I sit him down on the toilet seat. He grumbles under his breath as he leans back slowly, his eyes squeezing shut as he inhales. The airwhooshesback out through his full lips after a few seconds.

“I think I have a first aid kit,” I pant in a small voice, rummaging underneath the sink.

Please, let me have a first aid kit.

The flashes of red and white on the outside of the box make me release the breath I had been holding as I whisk it out and open it up on the sink. There are bandages, wraps, tape, gauze—and I don’t know what to do with any of it. I’m virtually useless at this moment, which only makes my anxiety heighten as I meet the intimidating glower of his dark eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” I squeak, digging through the supplies obtusely. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what to?—”

“Take off my clothes.”

I almost break my neck gaping at him, and the way his glare quickly transforms into a patronizing stare only worsens the humiliation bubbling in my stomach. He thinks I’ve lost my mind.No, he thinks I’ve perceived his words as a sexual advance. Even better.

“So you can see the gash,” he continues slowly, as if he’s fully convinced I’m stupid. “Take off my clothes so you can clean me up,chica.Unless youwantme to bleed out in your bathroom.”

A whimper is on the verge of escaping my lips at the pet name, even though I have no idea what it means. It just sounds good leaving his mouth.

I nod swiftly in response, my hands quivering as I carefully approach him to pull his jacket from his shoulders. I pitifully try not to react to the size of his chest and forearms, my tongue flicking out to wet my lips as if I’m parched. Maybe it would be best if hewashere to kill me—put me out of my misery. I deserve to die for drooling like a puppy over this stranger bleeding out on my toilet seat.

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