Page 97 of The Devastation You Reap

The sight makes my chest split in two.

This strong, ballsy, independent man is shattering right in front of me.

“Come on. I’ll clean you up.”

When I take his hands and pull him forward, this time he doesn’t fight as I lead him inside and close and lock the door behind us. Something tells me he doesn’t want the entire building witnessing this.

I don’t stop again until we’re in the safety of my room.

“Sit,” I instruct, gently pushing him down on the edge of my bed. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

I have no idea where all the blood has come from, but he doesn’t seem to be injured. Despite the fact his knuckles are wrecked, it doesn’t look like anyone has hit him. His face, aside from his expression, is as perfect as ever, just a few splashes of blood seem to be covering every inch of him.

I run a small bowl of warm water, grab a cloth and make my way back, dropping to my knees in front of him.

His eyes track my every move as I take one of his hands and begin cleaning him up.

The skin is split open across all his knuckles. Whoever or whatever he hit must have really hurt. But despite that, he barely even flinches as I carefully wipe the blood away.

“What happened, Leon?” I ask, looking up at him, only to find him staring down at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

After a few seconds, he must register that I asked a question because he shakes his head.

“Should I be worried about the person who was at the other end of these?” I ask lifting his knuckles and squeeze his fingers.

A bitter laugh falls from his lips.

“No.”

“Okay,” I say, trusting that he’s telling me the truth.

“Talk to me, Leon. Please.”

He shakes his head once more. “You don’t want to know. It would change the way you look at me. The way you feel about me.”

I want to tell him that I’m sure it won’t, but I swallow down the words.

“Did this have something to do with the guys from Friday night? I know they’re in a gang.”

“No, this is my shit.”

I sit back on my heels and look up at him, willing him to open up and tell me what’s got him in such a state. But while his eyes are dark and tormented, I can see the walls building back up in front of them from when he first arrived.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he says again.

“So why did you?” I ask without thinking.

“Because all I could think about was you.”

All the air rushes from my lungs at his confession.

“Is this… Whatever this is, the reason you vanished this weekend?”

“Partly. I was busy yesterday with family shit. But mostly I was freaking out,” he admits, making my brows pull together as I try to read between the lines. “This,” he says, gesturing between the two of us. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this, felt this. It’s—”

“Unnerving?” I finish for him.

“Y-yeah.”