Page 8 of Kortlek

“I’ll clean it first, put on ointment, and then put some bandage on.’’

Cove doesn’t speak, just lets me do my own thing. I use the antiseptic wipes first, carefully cleaning the wound a few times. It should sting at least, but he’s making no expressions to prove that. He’s as stoic as ever, staring into the side of my face as I work on him.

I pop the lid open of the antibiotic ointment and make sure to put a lot of it on it. It doesn’t take long before he’s all bandaged up. With the alcohol wipes, I remove the blood that had dried off on his body, ignoring the tingling sensation that spreads through my body whilst definitely using the opportunity to feel him up.

“Enjoying yourself, little bunny?” He asks, and I could swear that there’s a hint of teasing in his voice, although his face doesn’t change.

“Don’t be ridiculous,’’ I scoff, lying easily. “I’m just trying to remove all the blood.’’

He hums. “This is all your fault, you know.’’

I pause, tossing the alcoholic wipes aside and stepping backward. My brows narrow at the accusation, arms folded in front of my chest.

“What?”

“If you hadn’t screamed my name, I wouldn’t have gotten distracted.’’

My eyes widen slightly, and a snort of disbelief slips from my mouth, my lips parting. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s being completely serious and that he’s accusing me of being the one to blame for him getting the knife in his shoulder.

“No.’’

“Yes.’’

“No,’’ I repeat, slightly raising my voice. “The knife was seen from the sidelines, and the glove protected it from your point of view. My scream caused Arlo to react. If I hadn’t screamed, and Arlo hadn’t stepped up, the knife would’ve been in your throat, not your shoulder, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation because you’d be dead.’’

Cove rolls his eyes and stands up. He’s opening all of the lockers, looking for a shirt to wear. He finds one, Lord knows whose it is, puts it on, and turns to look at me, slowly approaching me as if he’s sizing me up.

He’s easily towering over me. I’m not short, but he’s not small either. He’s easily six feet, five inches tall, and the difference is evident right now. I don’t falter, though. I raise my head upward to meet his gaze, holding it intently with no plans of backing down.

“You think that a measly creature like that man would have taken me down?”

“Yes,’’ I responded almost too quickly. “Not because you’re not good enough, but because you got so self-absorbed that you didn’t see the look in his eyes. He was planning it from the start, Cove.’’

“Oh, yeah?” He leans in closer to the point of only an inch separating our faces. He’s trying to look for something, trying to read me, but I don’t let him. If my parents taught me anything valuable in life — except killing people — it’s how to maintain a perfect poker face. Not a single person has been able to see through it, and I’ll be damned if Cove becomes the first one.

“Yeah,’’ I echo his words, swallowing and trying my best not to pay attention to the proximity. He knows exactly what it’s doing to me, and he’s doing it on purpose to try and see me falter even for a split second.

“And tell me,’’ he chuckles, slowly, his eyes narrowed into slits, “since when is it your job to look out for me, hm?”

I blink, completely caught off guard by the absurd question. It takes me a minute to realize he’s being completely serious and that he’s genuinely curious about it.

“We’re friends,’’ I whisper. “It’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Look out for each other?”

A loud laugh comes from him, rumbling in his chest, his body trembling slightly. Something menacing is in the tone, and he’s definitely not finding this humorous in the slightest. A wide grin spreads across his face, and I think it’s the first time I’m seeing it on him, despite having known him for years.

“Friends, little bunny? No, we’re not friends. You’re Arlo’s younger sister. He’s someone I respect and value greatly, but you? You’re just his annoying little sister that never seems to go away. You’re everywhere, and the only reason I tolerate you is your brother.’’

Oh, that fucking hurts.

Slapping me would’ve hurt less than hearing him say it.

On some level, I already knew this. Without Arlo, the two of us never would’ve met. Whenever we were together, it was because I tagged along with Arlo and Blair. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve been alone together, and none of them was on purpose. Either Arlo and Blair were late, or they disappeared somewhere off together.

Still, hearing him say it in that stone-cold voice hurts. It hurts more than I’m willing to admit, and I’ll never say it out loud, but at this moment, it makes me want to cry. It’s just proof that whenever people see someone in my family, they see my parents or Arlo. It’s never me.

I’m like a shadow that’s in their way.

“You tolerate me,’’ I repeat, bitterness lacing my tongue. “Why?”

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