Page 99 of Hurt

“I won’t pretend to know what that boy’s been through, but he’s looking at me with eyes that have seen hell and back.”

The doctor pushed himself to his feet with a cacophony of popping joints.

“I’ve given him some antibiotics and pain meds. Injuries are too old to be sutured, not that these hands could do it anymore.” He held a gnarled hand in front of his face. “His physical injuries won’t kill him.”

Grant stood to escort Dr. Edil to the door. He moved with a shuffling tap sound, two feet that didn’t quite lift off the floor, followed by the tap of a cane he wasn’t leaning any weight on.

“Grant,” Dr. Edil called when he got to the door. “You be careful not to get bit.”

The door closed with Grant staring at it. Out of habit, he locked the deadbolt and returned to the couch.

Perhaps he should change, but the thought of going upstairs was too much. He didn’t want to be that far from Kurt. Not anymore. Not ever again.

He didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but he could suddenly sense him there. Elbows resting on his knees, he could feel Kurt’s presence.

Grant didn’t notice the thick white towel wrapped around his waist or the expanse of skin that was so pallid it might be made of the same material as the towel. He didn’t even clock the ugly bruises all over Kurt’s skin, the clearly defined fingerprints marked against his neck, or even the bloody gash on his scalp.

It was his face that he couldn’t stop looking at. Gone were the twisted scowl and defensive eyes. In their place was the face of a dead man. It was as if there was a film over his dark eyes and a tiredness in the way his lips were frowning. A slant to his shoulders that was so utterly defeated.

Before it had been as if Kurt was wearing a mask, a thin disguise to hide his true feelings and protect himself. But the mask was gone, and any hint of life with it.

Grant didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or scream.

“It doesn’t get any better the longer you look at it,” Kurt said in a tone Grant didn’t recognize. Normally deep and gruff, this voice sounded grating and raw.

“I’m sorry.”

The words fell out of his mouth before he knew just what he was apologizing for. He was guilty for so many things that he didn’t know how to make right. Grant had failed him—he had promised to protect him, promised to take out the Vega Cabal before they could lay another hand on him.

The result of his broken promise was standing in front of him.

Kurt lifted his face, but his eyes didn’t raise to meet his, resting somewhere over his right shoulder. Grant thought he knew those eyes, thought those eyes were branded into his memories. Often shuttered, true, but sometimes a playful hint would spark, and they would light up with the light of a thousand distant stars. But now, there was nothing. A horrifying empty space where nothing but void existed.

“I’ll get you some clothes.”

He returned with a soft pair of sleep pants and a baggy long-sleeved shirt. Kurt disappeared into the bathroom to change. It took a while, and Grant didn’t know if he should offer to help or not.

While he was debating, the man returned. His gait was stilted and stiff as he made his way to the couch. Grant moved so he could lower himself to the cushions. Kurt sat stiffly and didn’t look any more comfortable.

Kurt’s hands were resting on his knees. Without his usual leather bracelets, his arms looked naked. The skin the bracelets covered was buffed smooth from years of friction and paler than the rest of his forearm.

Noticing his stare, Kurt twisted his wrist to show him the underside.

An ugly jagged scar about three inches long traced vertically from the base of his palm up his forearm.

“Is your curiosity satisfied?”

“No,” Grant heard himself answer. “Will you tell me?”

The hands on his lap curled into shaking fists. Grant knew it wasn’t fair to ask. He should probably respect Kurt’s space. Back off and let him heal by himself.

Except that he couldn’t do that. Not anymore. He had done that, tried to be patient and give Kurt space. But the distance had grown too great, and he had almost lost him.

“If I tell you, will you let me go?”

Kurt wasn’t looking at him. He hadn’t looked him in the eye the entire time, but he had still somehow hit the bullseye. If there was another way to wound Grant, he wasn’t sure what it was. His request knocked the breath from his lungs, and he found himself standing and staring down at Kurt.

He wanted to hold him. Wrap him in his arms and somehow protect him from his own thoughts. It was agony to see him suffering and know there was nothing he could do. Even his touch would be unwelcomed.