Page 70 of Bend & Break
Blood streaks his arm, his side, his shirt. Too much of it for my liking.
He flinches when they press gauze to his ribs, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth. I push in closer, refusing to be moved when one of them tries to usher me away, and Mads catches my wrist, smearing my skin red. “I need her here with me,” he rasps, eyes locked on mine.
The paramedic gives me a quick once-over, then shrugs. “Fine. Just stay out of the way.”
Out of the way. As if I could stand anywhere but here, pressed to Mads’ uninjured side while they patch him up. Hisface is pale, but he still manages a smirk between rough breaths as the antiseptic burns across his broken skin.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
“Like what?” His voice is threaded with pain.
“Like you’re not bleeding all over the place.”
“Can’t help it.” His thumb brushes my knuckles. “You’re the only thing keeping me upright right now.”
An officer clears his throat beside us, notebook in hand. “We’re going to need statements. Both of you.”
Mads’s smirk doesn’t falter, but his grip on me tightens, like he’s daring them to try and separate us.
The questions come fast—names, descriptions, how long we’d been in the woods, what started it.
My throat’s raw from screaming, but I keep my answers flat. As truthful as possible. Two guys in masks jumped us. We didn’t know them. One had a knife, and he’s dead now because Mads fought back, and he fell on it. An accident. The officers agreed, the body’s position making it obvious.
Mads also felt the need to tell him we were out here for sexy time, which earned us a look that screamed,I do not get paid enough for this.
The parts about the drive, the video… we left all that out. It felt like the right thing to do for the time being. Just until we have all our ducks in a row.
They press, trying to catch us in a contradiction, but there isn’t one. Eventually, they accept everything for what it is and leave us be.
By the time the paramedics finish with Mads, his side is tightly bandaged and his arm wrapped. He’s pale but upright, leaning a little too much on me as they sign him off with a warning to get checked at the hospital if the bleeding starts again.
The cops don’t look happy about letting us go, but they’ve got more than enough to deal with, and two bruised and bloodied college kids aren’t high on their list once the body bag arrives.
We don’t wait around to see what happens next. We’ve dealt with enough for one night, and I’m just grateful no one’s cuffing either of us on the way out.
The second thedoor clicks shut behind us, I turn on him. “Sit down. You’re bleeding through the bandage already, and you?—”
“Nope.” His voice is firm, already steering me toward the bathroom with one hand at the small of my back. “You first.”
I whip around, glaring at him. “Excuse me? You should be?—”
“Blake.” He says my name like a warning. “I’m fine. You’re the one who just had a knife pressed to her throat. You’re showering. Now.”
My chest tightens, the image of that blade flashing in my mind, the way his face had looked when he saw it. I want to argue, to insist he needs rest, but he doesn’t let me. His hand slides up to cup the side of my face, thumb moving along my jaw, softer than the words spilling out of his mouth.
“I can live with a few cuts,” he murmurs. “I can’t live with you walking around in someone else’s blood. Go.”
I look down at myself and realize just how disgusting I am. Some of it must’ve smeared onto Mads in the fight, and ended up on me when I grabbed him after.
When I look back up, the heat behind his eyes leaves no room for protest. He nudges me into the bathroom, flicks the light on, and opens the closet to grab a few towels.
I cross my arms, fighting the crack in my voice. I can’t help but want to cry a little. “You really need to lie down.”
“And yet you’re still going to do what I say.” He smirks, tossing a towel onto the counter. “Shower, Blue.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already tugging his ruined hoodie over his head, wincing when it brushes his bandaged side. His t-shirt follows, landing in a crumpled heap on the tile.
“Mads—”
