Didn’t stop.
Reached her. Rolled her carefully onto her back, checking for, what? Damage. Threat. Danger I could eliminate.
Blood matted her hair at the temple. Not much. Scalp wounds always bled dramatically, looked worse than they were. But the sight of it made something go sharp inside my gut.
Someone hurt her.
That I’d failed to prevent it didn’t register. Just the evidence that she was bleeding, that something had happened, that she needed,
My palms moved without conscious thought. Pressed to the wound, applying pressure. Checking her pulse with my other fingers, there, at her throat, fast but steady. Her inhales shallow but present.
Concussion, maybe. Exhaustion definitely.
She’d worn herself out saving me. Worked until her body gave out. And I’d been lying there watching it happen, noting her deterioration as clinical data instead of doing something.
What could you have done? You can’t even speak.
Bitter. True. Useless.
But I could move now. Could get her off the freezing floor. Could,
Her lids lifted. Unfocused, confused, trying to place where she was.
“Xavier?” Slurred. Struggling. “You shouldn’t be.”
Her fingers reached for me. Not defensive. Not pulling away. Reaching to check if I was okay, if I’d hurt myself getting to her.
Still trying to help me.
The fury that surged was irrational. Absolute. She was bleeding and her first instinct was checking on me? Foolish woman.
I grabbed her wrist. Not hard. Just holding. Stopping her from reaching for anything except staying conscious.
Her focus cleared. Found mine. Recognition bleeding through confusion.
I’m okay,she whispered.Just tired. The head, not that bad. I’ve had worse.
When? When have you had worse?
Questions I couldn’t ask. Fury I couldn’t express. Just this helpless rage at whoever had hurt her before, at whatever hadleft her alone in a freezing apartment helping strangers who brought nothing but danger to her door.
At myself for being the reason she was bleeding now.
My palms worked. One staying on her head wound, applying pressure. The other sliding under her shoulders, testing if I could lift her.
Pain lanced through my side. Fresh blood soaked through bandages. My shoulder threatened to dislocate again under the strain.
Didn’t matter.
I got her upper body off the floor, supporting her weight despite everything screaming. She tried to protest, mouth opening, words forming, but consciousness flickered, taking the argument with it.
Her head lolled against my good shoulder. Small. Breakable. And I’d let her fall.
No. You tried. You failed.
I dragged us both toward the bed. Her body against mine, my arm around her, pulling with my legs since my torso was fire. Every movement cost. Side grinding. Blood spreading warm across my stomach. Vision tunneling.
Kept moving anyway.
