Page 10 of The Secret Experimentation
I’m seething. Fucking seething. When I heard Mel’s broken voice through the phone something inside of me just snapped. His usual singsong tone had turned into a brittle whisper. I couldn’t take it. I had to get to him. To make sure he was fine. Seeing him sitting in the back of the ambulance all alone, looking black and blue and so fragile, I had to restrain the wave of protectiveness that engulfed me. I am not surprised he got hurt defending the shelter animals. He loves those babies—as he calls them. Mel might be tiny, but he has an inner strength always shining in his light brown eyes. He’s brave…and damn careless. I can’t believe he risked his own life without a second thought.
I’ve rejected his bold advances in the past weeks, but his stubborn attitude and exuberant reactions slowly ensnared me, bringing what feels like an attachment to him. Hence me staying the night to make sure he’s okay.
I look down at his messy, thick hair. Without one of his eye-catching headbands, the locks seem to have a mind of their own, kind of like Medusa’s snakes. His face is pushed against my chest and I can feel his warm breath through the fabric of my shirt. I try not to think about the wrinkles forming and focus on the fact that he’s hurt and needs me. Strangely, having Mel in my arms feels…pleasant. His body is light and soft, not as curvy as a woman’s, more wiry. But the skin of his thigh feels smooth under my hand. Would his hair feel as silky between my fingers?
His small, upturned nose and red lips come into view when he opens the door of his apartment. I close it with the heel of my foot, and after he flicks the light on, I move further into the living room. The place is an explosion of colors. The brown sofa and black TV are the only dark-toned objects in the room. This is how I imagine the end of a rainbow would look like. The walls are pinkish orange, and the ceiling is light blue with white clouds painted here and there. A huge colorful tapestry covers part of a wall and pictures of dogs and cats and more animals give life to a collage on the opposite side. A yellow rug lays at the foot of the large sofa near a green coffee table and a blue TV bench with golden swirls at the corners of each drawer. In the tiny white kitchen there’s a red blender, a green coffee maker, and a pink microwave oven. Where the hell did he find colored appliances?
Surprisingly, the set from Willy Wonka’s factory is tidy and clean.
“Where have you been, bitch?” A cracky, British-posh voice suddenly booms inside the quiet room.
“I’m here, Alfred,” Mel replies tiredly.Alfred?
Only now do I notice the big white bird perched on top of a wooden branch near the window.
“A snail would have been faster than your fat arse,” the rude bird answers back.
“What the fuck?” I frown at the feathery potty mouth.
“Fuck. You wish, you ugly dick!”
Mel sighs and pushes his fingers to my lips, silencing my very vulgar reply.
“He won’t stop till he’s had the last word,” he whispers, letting his fingers slide down a little too slowly from my mouth. The tips pushing slightly down on my lower lip. His eyes are so hypnotically fixed on the movement I have to swallow the sudden weird feeling warming my belly. Then his head falls on my pec again, and he gestures for me to go toward what looks like his bedroom.
The small purple lamp on the nightstand is on, bathing the small room in a pinkish light. The king-size bed makes my eyebrow rise with bewilderment. It takes up almost all the space, leaving a place only for a small grey dresser covered in red flowers. The door to the ensuite bathroom is open. After peeking at the bathtub, I gently place Mel on his bed and head to it with the intention to fill it. I turn the tap and after finding the right temperature, I let the water flow. There’s a slim, expensive-looking bottle of bath salts on the counter. I pour a generous amount into the steaming water. The room quickly starts to smell amazing. Jasmine, the label says. So that’s the name of the flowery scent I’ve come to link to Mel. Warm and delicate but lasting until it turns fucking addictive. Just like him.
Confused by the smile curling my lips, I hurriedly place the bottle back down and return to the bedroom.
Mel is tapping away on his phone. His other arm is wrapped around his torso, hand on his hurting side. I feel my teeth grind again at the beaten-up sight of him, and I move closer until I grab the phone from his fingers and set it on the nightstand.
“Hey!” he protests. “I was using it.”
I ignore him. Whoever he’s texting can wait. It’s probably that easy-smirk Sam. An image of the young guy and the comfortable way Mel was with him enters my head.Why does it bother me?It’s unsettling.
“Bath time. Lift,” I order him, starting to pull his ruined pink t-shirt up. He obliges, hissing when he raises his arms. When the collar slides over his head, his hair flaps down on his forehead, making him look even younger. His face is all scrunched up in pain and his tongue comes out to stroke the split on his bottom lip tentatively. I avert my eyes, fixing them on his chest, while pushing away the odd thoughts that were trying to form inside my head. A large white bandage covers his left side and the beginning of a huge bruise is forming on his torso. A few superficial cuts mar his flat belly and neck.
“What the hell, Mel?” My angry growl rumbles inside my chest. He shivers in response—looking so fucking breakable—and part of my irritation fades. He doesn’t need this now. Even though what he did was reckless and thoughtless, he’s been through a lot.
I kneel and take off his checkered Vans and socks. Then lifting him carefully up into my arms again, I take him to the bathroom. When his feet touch the ground he turns to the long mirror on the wall.
“I look like shit,” Mel cries, staring at his face. “I’m surprised you and Nell recognized me.” His hand touches the bottom lip which has grown two times its normal size, then over to the bruise near his eye and the bandage on his forehead. In the mirror I see his whiskey eyes trail down to the ugly bruises blossoming on his torso. It’s clear how hard he’s trying to keep the tears in while looking at his battered appearance. “Fuck,” he swears brokenly.
“Hey. It’s nothing permanent. Trust me.” I try to comfort him. My hand automatically lifts and lands on his shoulder squeezing lightly. Which is weird. It’s not like I don’t touch people. More like, I usually avoid it unless I have to.
“Are you an expert in injures?” His sad eyes find mine in the mirror.
“Kind of. I played football in high school, and my brother did freestyle wrestling. I know one thing or two about bruises and cuts.” I shrug.
“And I was already creating a Batman scenario in my head.” He smirks. It’s a small one, but I feel like I can breathe again. Seeing all the happiness sucked out of him turned me edgy and helpless. I’m not good at comforting others. I’m just not good with people full-stop.
“Accountant by day and kick-ass protector by night,” he keeps going. I see a bit of a sparkle back in his gaze and my lips tilt up. Mel is the only person capable of lightening any situation.
“Secret identities have to remain secret.” My eyebrow kicks up and his smile grows bigger.
He turns toward the bathtub. And unblushingly starts pushing his green shorts down together with his boxers. Little by little the inked green wings on his back are revealed to me, and fuck, they are beautiful. The details, colors, and shading are incredible. The two small dimples on his lower back appear. And finally I’m welcomed by the sight of the most perfect, round, plump ass I’ve ever seen. My brain goes out of order for a few seconds. Mel cusses, and I notice him having difficulties in taking the shorts off from around his feet. I help him out, almost kicking myself for getting distracted. But his ass. A man’s ass. A man’s fucking juicy ass. My dick agrees, starting to ache inside my jeans.
WTAF?
