Page 37 of Storm in a Teacup
Finger extended, he holds it out to me, passing it to my outstretched finger like children passing a bug. Without getting up, I grab my contact case from the edge of the counter and place the contact inside with the solution. I screw the top on and make to stand, but Ben shakes his head at me.
“Stay there.”
He kneels in front of me, removing my glasses and setting them up on the counter. He snatches a tissue and gently dabs above my eye where I injured myself. Pain stings where the tissue touches.
“A lot of blood,” he comments, “but not too deep.” He grabs a fresh tissue and presses it to the cut. “Hold this here,” he directs. “I’m going to see if the front desk has a first aid kit. Don’t move.”
I take the tissue from him, applying pressure to the spot. “Not even to put on clothes?” I ask, painfully cognizant of the fact that I am only in a towel.
“Especially not to put on clothes,” he says seriously. “I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room while I stay in that spot, sitting on the bathroom floor.
The tears stopped already, but they nearly start again when I’m hit with how annoyed I am at myself. When things like this happen, I never know if I should blame my eyes or my knack for clumsiness. I hold the tears in. There have been far too many on this trip.
Ben soon returns, supplied with antibacterial cream and bandages. He kneels back before me, gently guiding my hand away from the injury. “It’s already stopped bleeding,” he observes. He dabs on the cream, smoothing it into the cut with the pad of histhumb. He then places the bandage on the spot, concealing half of my eyebrow in the process. “Cute.”
I glare.
He responds with a laugh. “I’m serious!” He brushes a loose strand of my damp hair behind my ear, then presses his lips against the bandage. I feel myself anchoring toward his mouth. He pulls away only slightly to say softly, “Kiss and make it better, right?”
“Right,” I whisper back, eyes trained on a light bruise on my bare knee. “I’m not usuallythismuch of a mess,” I promise, even though I’m not sure that’s true.
“I like a bit of a mess.” As if suddenly aware of how close we are, he pulls back and stands. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” He exits, closing the door behind himself.
I pull myself back to my feet, finish my skincare routine, glare at the bandage affixed to my face, then put on my PJs. By the time I exit, Ben has changed into shorts and is wearing his glasses as he watches TV. When he sees I’m out, we switch places in the bathroom. I climb into my side of the bed, pulling out my phone but not really looking at anything.
He comes back out, teeth brushed and face washed. Before he climbs in with me, he grabs two pillows and puts them in the middle of the bed. He then snatches one of the pillows from behind my head, causing me to slam back into the wall, and puts that in the middle as well.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, sitting up.
“Building a barrier,” he says, “since you clearly can’t keep your hands to yourself in the night.”
“Oh my god,” I say, snatching back my pillow and tossing it behind my shoulders. “You’re such an ass.” I grab another pillow and chuck it at him.
He chuckles as he catches it, flopping down onto the bed and throwing it behind himself. “I told you, I liked it. I’m happy to cuddle anytime.” He shoves his body under the sheets.
I cross my arms. “It won’t happen again.”
“I won’t be upset if it does.”
I sigh heavily and take off my glasses, tossing them on the side table, then switch off the lamp. I slide down lower into the sheets and lie on my back.
Ben follows suit, turning off his light and settling into the bed. “So,” he says into the dark room. “I realized you know why I was on the bench, but I don’t know what led you there. Why were you in Grassmarket? Not trailing Atti, right?”
“No,” I snip. “I was just…” I huff out air through my nose. “I was taking a walk. I know that sounds weird because it was eleven o’clock at night, but I do that sometimes. Not as often anymore, but it’s, like, proof that I can. Taking a walk in the dark by myself reminds me that I have agency.”
“Hmm,” he muses. “That makes sense. Can I make one request, though, for when you do that?”
“What?”
“Take some form of weapon with you. Protect yourself.”
My heart hums at the concern. “I have mace.”
“Good.”
I shift on my side toward him. “I was happy to have you here this weekend. I hope you had an okay time.”
“I had a great time.” He flips on his side as well. “I was happy to be here.”
