Page 51 of Regressive

“No.” He rises up, shrugging me off. I don’t back away though, worried about his face and head. His ribs. His mouth tugs down in a grimace and he limps off the mat.

“Elon! What is this? What are you doing?”

He turns. It’s slow and looks painful. “I’m doing what I said I would.” His eyes dart to the mat, now covered in blood. “Those were my Corrections.”

I blink, remembering how he’d promised me he would take Corrections for finding the information on my mother. He was assuming my guilt—my Lapse.

I had no idea he’d do it this way.

“Are you crazy? You could get seriously hurt!”

“Me?” He’s shoulders shift back and he strides toward me. “I’m trained. I spent years learning how to fight and defend myself. But what about you? About the beatings you take from Levi to assuage your guilt? The assault you call Enlightenment?”

“It’s not the same. You weren’t fighting back.”

“Neither do you.” His eyes narrow—or they try. The left one is swollen and puffy. He looks unsteady on his feet. I don’t think, I just wrap my arm around his waist.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, sure.” He doesn’t resist when I help him over to the bench, although to be fair, he outweighs me by at least a hundred and twenty pounds. “Sit.”

For once in his life, he follows directions, sighing heavily as he eases to the hard seat.

“Wait here.”

I head to the back room—a small kitchen, I’ve been in while serving refreshments at the basketball games. There’s an ice machine and a stack of clean towels. I fill the towel with ice and wet a few others in the sink. When I come back out, he’s on his back, the hard bench aligned with his spine. I bend down to my knees, pressing the ice to his swollen eye. “Hold this.”

“You’re awfully bossy today,” he says, keeping the ice in place.

“Well, I think Malen knocked your good sense out around the third punch.”

He laughs, but it’s lacking any real levity. He winces and groans.

“How often do you do this?” I ask, wiping the blood off his chin.

His eyes meet mine. “Not often. Corrections are something I gave up a long time ago.”

“So, why now?”

“Because I promised.” He looks away. “And because I put you in harm’s way and that deserved some consequences.” It may be the most honest thing he’s ever said to me and my heart aches because I’m the one that drove him to this.

I stand, leaving the cloth on the bench. Bending, I grab the hem of my skirt and lift it. His eyes widen as I reveal myself. If he questions it, he never speaks. This isn’t about sex or lust or anything else. It’s about showing my scars, the way he just showed his. I know when he sees them. His eyes widen, lips turn down. His hand shoots out and he grabs me by the back of the thigh, pulling me close.

“Who did this?” His thumb grazes under the red, scabbing wound. It’s ugly, like I feel inside.

I swallow, heat burning my cheeks. “Levi, but only because I asked him to.”

Begged.

He rises up, spinning his legs until he’s sitting up and facing me. His hand fists in my skirt, and he pulls me close.

“I don’t like it,” he grunts.

I touch the side of his face, grazing his puffy eye, the result of his own Correction. “Are you sure?”

“That’s different. I don’t like it when you hurt yourself.” He kisses the healing cuts. Each one. Slow and gentle. “Your skin is perfect. Soft. You’re perfect.”

I thread my fingers in his hair, lifting his face to mine. “I’m anything but.”

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