I bury the self-pity down and straighten my spine.
I don’t need anyone’s concern. I have me, myself and I. That’s all I will ever need. It’s not like I can tell him anything anyway. My attacker said he knew who I am, if he blabs then its bye bye to my future away from my father.
“I tripped on my run,” I shrug.
“You tripped?” He asks with an arched brow.
I nod and go to grab my headphones off my head but come up empty.
I internally groan. That bastard pulled my expensive headphones off when he grabbed my hair. I drop my hand before trying to take a step closer to the changing rooms. Asher takes a step to block my path.
“Did you fall over more than once?” He tilts his head. “Because that sure as shit doesn’t look like a trip,”
I roll my eyes. “I took a tumble downhill,” He scowls like when I mentioned his sister. I am too embarrassed and shaken to deal with Asher’s mood right now, so I straighten my shoulders to feign composure.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I would quite like to fix myself up before walking back to my room,” I push past him without another word and quickly make my way into the changing rooms.
It’s a generic room, with brown wooden lockers, benches and an area for washing. The big space to my left has a huge mirror that covers the top half of the wall, with a few sinks and hairdryers. I walk over and run one of the towels from the pile under some warm water and ring it out before lifting it to my cheek. The blood has dried with some dirt in the cut, and I pray that I don’t need stitches. I hate needles.
My arm is nearly to my face when the door to the girls changing room bangs open and Asher comes into view behind me in the mirror. His shirt is still nowhere to be seen. I could tell under his suit that he would be something to drool over but I didn’t prepare for this. He looks like a work of art. Not overly muscly like a lot of guys nowadays, but tight and toned, perfect for his proportions. Tattoos are dotted about his body. Intricate patterns dance across his chest and down both thick arms. My focus drops down to where his gym shorts sit low on his hips, showing off the delicious dips that usually get my mouth watering.
When I meet his glare through the mirror there is a mixture of emotions. Anger is at the forefront, but behind it zings with heat from my blatant perusal.
“Why are you lying?” He grits out, placing his hands on his hips.
“This is the girls changing rooms,” I scan over him. “And judging by that bulge, you don’t have a vagina,” I smirk.
He crosses his arms over his chest and the action makes his pecks harden deliciously.
“Get out Asher!”
“Not until you tell me what really happened,” He stands his ground.
“I told you I tripped,” I lift the towel to my face again.
“And I call bullshit,”
I wince at the sting of the cotton pulling at the congealed blood and dirt.
With three long strides Asher is next to me and taking the towel from my hands.
“Here,” I meet his eye. “Let me,”
My brows furrow at his kindness. It isn’t only strange to me because people don’t usually give a shit. But it’s strange that the man who appears more demon than human, is trying to help me.
“I’ve got it,” I pull my hand out of his reach slightly, but he grabs my wrist hard and pulls the towel out of my grip. His eyes flick with annoyance at my response and I shake my head with the whiplash of his ever-changing emotions. I don’t even think he knows how quickly he goes in and out of them.
“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” He snaps before turning me towards him. From this angle I can see his face up close as he slowly wipes away my blood. He is completely focused and unhurried, which allows me time to take in his glory. He really is a God. No wonder the whole school seems to fall at his feet. Not only is he tragically beautiful, but he is also a natural born leader and smart as hell. He is the full package, and well equipped for the future he has ahead of him.
He takes his time, being as gentle as he can, but that doesn’t stop me from wincing every time he drags the fabric over the wound.
We stand in silence assessing each other as he cleans up my face, then drops the towel into the bin beside him. He places both hands on my shoulders and turns me to reface the mirror, taking the space behind me. As though he has done it a thousand times before, he pulls my hair tie from my hair and begins to flatten it down my back before braiding it. My eyes are wide as he silently finishes the job. The act is way too intimate for two strangers. And that’s what we are. Strangers.
Yet, this pull in my chest I have had since the day I first saw him, sure doesn’t feel like strangers. It feels like something more.
His gaze meets mine in the mirror where I am glued to the spot. Am I dreaming?
Am I still in bed waiting for the morning sun to crest the horizon.
