I was what lived in the silence after betrayal.
I stepped forward—slow, deliberate—until the space between us was unbearable. Until the air practically vibrated from everything we weren’t saying.
“Let me take care of you,” I said, the words a vow and a demand all at once.
Her lip curled. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” I whispered, my voice dark and edged in something lethal, “no one gets to touch what’s mine.”
The word hung in the air like a brand. Possessive. Absolute.
She didn’t step back.
Didn’t look away.
And fuck, I loved her for it.
In that moment, we were two blades clashing—sparks flying from the contact, neither willing to yield.
But I meant every word.
I’d burn the world to ash before I let anyone lay a hand on her again.
I didn’t take my eyes off her.
Not for a second.
As I reached for the first aid kit, my hands moved slowly, deliberately—like if I moved too fast, I’d shatter what little peace remained between us.
The silence was thick. Tense. Her breaths came sharp and shallow. Mine, slower. Calculated. Every beat of my heart synced with the memory of her blood on her lip—on the counter.
It hadn’t stopped burning.
I opened the kit. Pulled out antiseptic, gauze, tape. My hands were steady, but barely. Her blood was still there—still visible. Still mocking me.
A reminder that I failed her.
That someone dared to hurt her where I couldn’t protect her.
Where I should have.
“Stay still,” I said quietly, stepping toward her.
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her body was stiff, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, but it came weaker than before—more reflex than command.
“I’m not asking,” I replied, voice low, soft—but final. Not because I needed to win. Because I needed to tend to her. Even if it was the only way she’d let me near her.
I reached up, brushing my fingers against her chin as I tilted her face toward the light. Her skin was warm beneath mine, tense but unflinching.
She didn’t pull away.
She could’ve.
She didn’t.
I dabbed the wipe against her lip with the kind of gentleness I didn’t know I possessed. The antiseptic stung—I saw it. That flicker of pain in her eyes. That moment of vulnerability she tried to bury too fast.
