Page 45 of Jerk

"How often does this happen to you? Who else touched you like that?" She doesn't answer, her head hanging again. Tilting her chin up to me, I catch her blurry gaze. “Is that what you do with us? Dissociate?”

She takes a moment, the silence in the room making me wish for that god-awful music to come back.

“No.” Her words linger, her eyes locking with mine.

Time slows, my grip loosens.

Hannah yelps.

It’s only then do I realize I let her fucking slip. Right on the flame.

"Shit. Fuck. I—” I’m quick to turn off the burner, ignoring that I sound like a stammering idiot. She moves away. Too far. “Wait a minute.”

My arm wraps around her to keep her in place. Her body stills. So does the air around us. A warm tear lands on my chest. Then another.

Are you hugging Hannah Alfonso?

And why can’t I let go?

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asks the same question I'm searching for an answer to.

“Trying to help.” She deserves my wrath after what she did. She didn’t deserve Vince. I lead her over to the island behind us, my arms still wrapped around her. “Let me see.”

“Let yousee? Are you still drunk?”

Her back to me, I lean her over the island counter. My fingers graze her thigh when I lift her shirt, my abs tightening. She’s not wearing any underwear, and it’s hard to pull my eyes away. Ignoring the jump in my pants, I peel her shirt up to the red spot on her back.

She hisses when my fingers land on it. “Be gentle. Or is that impossible for you?”

“Relax.” I’m too tired to fight. “I’ll be gentle.”

“As gentle as a raging giant.”

“You want me to kiss it better, is that it?” I tease, a twist in my stomach coming with it.

“Shut up and just… don’t make it hurt more than it does already, okay?”

“For a brat, you’re a big baby.” Leaning over, my lips hover over that red spot on her soft skin. Her body rises off the counter as if she feels the heat of my breath.

“Stay away from Hannah.”

Clearing my throat, I lean back. “Where’s your first aid kit?” She points to a nearby drawer, next to the sink. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Bet I can make you crawl like one.”

She looks back, her head against the counter. “Without a knife?”

Smirking at her response, I move to where she directs, finding the kit and searching for some ointment. “You’re the one who likes sharp things.”

“I donot!” Her tone isn’t convincing. “You’re the one who started it. At the gallery.”

“Usually, people get scared when something sharp comes to their body.” Rubbing some ointment on my fingers, my eyes move to her ass again, still poking out of that shirt. “But not you.”

“You don’t want to hurt me, Rye. Not like that anyway.”

My fingers hover above her burn, my eyes still on her ass. “You sure about that?”