“Don’t try to move,” Bo advised in a low voice.
“Bo,” I groaned, a sound born both of pain and of need.
I ached, but not from a truly physical pain. It was with a strange yearning that I couldn’t describe, like I wanted to take Bo into my body, drink him in like a fine wine. It seemed that my blood was on fire, crying out for him and him alone.
I felt his hand sweep my forehead and I thought I detected a slight tremor in his touch. I wondered vaguely if he felt it too, that desperate need.
His movement caused the air to stir around my face. I felt an unusual wetness all over my skin, on my ears and my neck. I tried to open my eyes again and this time I succeeded, but I still couldn’t see anything. We were in the dark. I couldn’t even see where Bo was in relation to me; I could only feel that he was near.
“Where are we?”
“In the basement,” Bo ground out, it seemed through gritted teeth.
“What happened?”
“A tree fell across the yard, across the steps and hit you.”
“Am I alright?” A silly question, I know, since I was alive and talking, but somehow, I thought the answer might not be that simple.
“You’ll be fine,” he answered gruffly.
“Why are we in the dark?”
“The, uh, the tree knocked out the lights down here.”
“So, who was that guy?”
“I don’t know. I think he had me confused with someone else.” Bo’s tone was withdrawn and abrupt.
“Oh,” I said, feeling absurdly suspicious, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, I wouldn’t press. “Maybe we should go upstairs. I feel wet. I think I might be bleeding.”
Other than an aching head, I didn’t feel like I’d been wounded, fatally or otherwise. Surely if I was hurt badly, I’d know it. I probably needed to check anyway. That was the smart thing to do.
“Here,” he said, sliding an arm beneath my shoulders. “You shouldn’t walk. I’ll have to carry you.”
The fact that he didn’t seem too pleased about that hurt my feelings, which then irritated me. Both feelings were eclipsed, however, by the heavenly feel of his chest pressed against my side when he picked me up.
When I was firmly in his arms, he gasped. It hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that he might be hurt, too.
“Are you alright? You don’t have to carry me,” I said earnestly, all the while my body was rebelling at the idea of being out of his arms—ever.
“I’ll be fine,” he assured me, though I could tell that his teeth were still gritted.
He carried me remarkably easily up the concrete steps and around to the back door. Once inside the dark house, Bo walked through to the bathroom and deposited me gently on the toilet. He didn’t turn on the light.
“I’ll let you get cleaned up. The sight of your blood…” he trailed off in a very telling manner.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re one of those people that can’t stand the sight of blood?” I hadn’t even thought of that, but it would explain his behavior and his sharpness.
“Something like that,” he said uncomfortably. “Holler if you need anything. There are wash cloths under the sink.” With that, he closed the door and I was alone in the dark.
Luckily, it seemed like a tiny bathroom, which made sense in such a small house. When I reached out, I could feel the sink to my left and walls to my right and in front of me.
I stood and walked my hand around beside the door jamb until I felt a light switch. I flipped it and turned around to face the mirrored medicine cabinet that hung over the sink.
As soon as I saw my reflection, my heart tripped into a faster cadence. I looked like Carrie in the scene from that movie where they dump the bucket of pig’s blood on her. My hair and clothes were saturated with blood, and my face and neck were streaked with thick rivulets of it.
Reaching up, I felt through my hair for some kind of wound. One spot on my scalp felt a little sore, bruised almost, but I felt no gashes or punctures. I’d always heard that the scalp bled a lot; maybe I’d been scraped by the tree and it had broken the skin enough to bleed, but not do any real damage.
I closed my eyes and leaned on the sink, encouraging myself to calm down. It’s incredibly alarming, the sight of your reflection covered in blood. Even if the injury isn’t serious, it’s still a scary thing to behold.
Reaching beneath the sink, I took out a rag. I hated to ruin one of Bo’s wash cloths, but I had to get myself cleaned up so I could get past Bo and get home. My parents would freak if they saw me like this. Mom would probably even be home and sober since Dad’s flight got in before lunch.
I wet the cloth and wiped at my face and neck then rinsed and repeated dozens of times until I’d gotten most of the blood off and had disguised it as much as possible on my uniform top. Luckily our school colors were black, white and maroon and most of the blood had gotten on my shoulders where the colors were darkest.
When I was once again presentable, I made my way through the house toward the only other light I saw shining. It was the kitchen light and Bo was standing at the sink. I would’ve been able to find him anyway, just following my nose. I could smell his scent like a heavenly musk trail through the house.
Bo was facing the hallway. He must’ve heard me coming.
“Are you alright?” As he asked, he walked over to where I’d stopped just inside the doorway. The closer he got, the harder my pulse drummed in my ears.
Coming to a stop in front of me, he rubbed my arms comfortingly.
“I’m fine. I can’t really figure out where all that blood came from.”
“Scalp wounds bleed a lot,” he confirmed matter-of-factly.
I couldn’t help but grin. “That’s what I’ve always heard, too.”
Bo had a smudge of blood across his cheek. I reached up to wipe it away.
“What is it?”
“You must’ve gotten some blood on you when you carried me up the stairs.” I looked at his clothes. There was not a single drop of blood on them.