Immortal Wounds

by Nicole Grane

  Chapter 3: My Hero

  I instinctively grabbed hold of his waist and held on tight. My gosh he smelled good. I felt instantly comforted by the light fragrance of a spring rain—I inhaled deeply, taking him in; and I found myself resting my cheek against his back.

  His body tensed suddenly. I debated whether I should lift my head when I felt the gentle caress of his fingers across the top of my hands that were locked around him. He seemed just as content as I was. It was strange, the automatic connection I felt with him . . . he must feel it too.

  We zipped through traffic at crazy speeds. I was sure I was going to fly off at any moment if I didn’t hold on for dear life. I frowned as we pulled into the parking lot area at the beach. I wasn’t ready to let go.

  It was a beautiful day, fairly warm and only a few clouds in the sky. I’d been here dozens of times, but never before had I been able to hear the ocean from here. It was an easy mile hike down the trail.

  I shook my head in confusion, then realized I was still sitting on the back of the motorcycle with my arms tightly locked around Marcus.

  He cleared his throat softly. “We could stay here like this if you want but it seems a shame not to at least collect a few shells.” He laughed lightly.

  I released him from my death-grip. Blushing. I couldn’t explain the feeling I had. It was as if I’d known Marcus all along. His very essence was so familiar to me. Maybe it was because he’d saved me? He was my own personal hero! Or maybe it was something more? Another piece to the puzzle I was desperately trying to figure out.

  We started down the long path that led to the beach. I watched as he took everything in. His hair shined in the sun, vibrant and healthy-looking. It looked so soft . . . I wondered what it might feel like to touch it. He lowered his face suddenly, reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pair of sunglasses. His movements were quick. Had I not been paying such close attention, I wouldn’t have noticed him reach for the glasses in the first place—they would have simply appeared on his face. How did he move so fast? One thing was certain. There was much more to Marcus than he was allowing me to know. He glanced my way, smiling out the corner of his mouth. He’d caught me staring.

  I blushed again. “Marcus?” I asked smiling shyly. “Do you feel like we . . .?”

  “We what?”

  I took a deep breath. I knew this was crazy, but I had to ask: “Like we know each other?”

  I could see his expression perk up a little. He looked almost delighted. And then, as quickly as his smile came, it was gone. He now looked worried.

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said casually.

  I sucked in my cheeks. So, it was going to be like that was it? He was going to make me spell out everything—leave me exposed for embarrassment and possible rejection. I had to play this carefully.

  “I mean, that when you look at me,” I took a brave breath, “it’s like you’ve known me all my life.” I hesitated for a moment. “I feel like a memory of you is buried somewhere deep in my mind, I can’t see it clearly, but I know it’s there. Does that make sense?” I asked sounding confused myself.

  He walked along side me quietly. His lips were pursed together, as if deliberating with his answer. “I’m not sure how to answer you, Phoebe,” he finally spoke. “I think we should discuss this another time,” he said with a hint of finality in his voice.

  I stopped walking. “Another time? Either you know me, or you don’t!” I blurted out. “But how could you?” I whispered quietly under my breath.

  “That’s not such an easy question,” he continued, not bothering to notice that I wasn’t beside him. His tone was a little harder now. “Sometimes the mind has a difficult time processing certain . . . Situations,” he spoke cautiously.

  That was it! I didn’t care how attracted I felt to him. No one was going to tell me that my brain couldn’t handle “certain situations.”

  “I think I am capable of grasping whatever it is you won’t tell me,” I said, catching up to him again.

  I waited for him to speak. Nothing!

  “Since we’re being so open,” I added sarcastically, “I’d also like to know why you just left me on the ground, bleeding, after I was apparently attacked by some wild wolf!” The question came out a little harsher than I’d meant. I could tell by the look on his face he did not expect my sudden hostile mood change. He was obviously not used to women!

  Marcus stopped walking and turned toward me. “I never left you,” he growled. There was anguish in his words, as well as another meaning that I couldn’t decipher. My instincts told me not to press him about it. Clearly he was upset about something he wanted me to know but didn’t feel comfortable talking to me about.

  We continued walking, neither of us in the mood for shell hunting; that much my little brain could figure out on its own.

  I was fuming. I was so busy glaring at him that I didn’t notice the narrow walk on the trail ahead.

  I screamed as my foot lost ground on the soft shoulder. I slid off the trail, down the side of the cliff. My hands tried to grab onto anything as the rocks crumbled below my feet.

  Marcus grabbed my wrist before I was lost. He yanked it sharply and pulled me back up with such force, I landed on top of him, knocking him to the ground.

  I stared at him wide-eyed. I could feel him breathing heavily below me. His face looking as startled as I felt. The shock of what had just happened settled in, and I started to cry. By the panicked expression on his face, he hadn’t expected that.

  Marcus brought my face to his chest. “Shh, I’ve got you.” He put his arms around me, holding me close to him. “I’ve got you.” He half-laughed to himself. “I’d have thought you’d have outgrown your clumsiness by now . . . my silly girl,” he added affectionately. He was stroking the side of my face with his hand as his body rocked me back and forth.

  Being cradled so closely to him seemed to ease my mind, but not the pain I was now fully aware of. I reluctantly slid off his body to look myself over.

  The palms of my hands were scraped badly, and stung. My shirt was torn a little. Small red patches of blood had already bled through. My legs fared the worst. My jeans hadn’t been able to stop the sharp rocks from scraping my knees.

  “You really should be more careful,” he said through clenched teeth.

  He was mad at me? How could he be so nice one minute, and so disgusted the next? And yes, he was disgusted with me; there was no other explanation for the expression on his face.

  I started to cry again, harder this time. “I would have been watching if I didn’t have to glare at you for keeping secrets from me!” I accused. “My whole body hurts, I nearly just plummeted to my death, and you’re angry with me?”

  “You’re . . . bleeding.” He had trouble saying the word. Marcus turned his head to the side and took a deep breath as the ocean breeze reached us. His eyes were closed. His face looked paler than normal. He staggered back a little.

  “Are you alright?” I sniffled.

  “The blood . . .”

  I thought for a moment. “You’re afraid of blood?” I was completely shocked.

  He turned his head so I couldn’t see his face. The muscles in his arms tightened as he took in every breath.

  “Your leg . . . the cut is deep.” His voice was gruff.

  “How can you tell?” I could feel he was right, but how could he possibly know that?

  He paced a little in front of me, rubbing his forehead with his hands. He took a few more deep breaths before he walked back to me.

  Without a word, he put one arm around my back and the other under my legs. He scooped me up effortlessly into his arms and started back up the hill. I could just barely see his eyes through the corner of his sunglasses. They looked . . . amber? His jaw was still clenched. He seemed to be holding his breath.

  “I’m sorry if I’m heavy for you,” I said awkwardly, not knowing what really to say. I couldn’t believe he was carrying me.
I couldn’t be more than a hundred pounds, but having to haul me up this hill I’m sure wasn’t easy. He had a look of pure concentration on his face.

  “Humph.” His lips curled up into a smile.

  I could feel my leg pulsating as the pain increased. I started to feel light-headed. The ringing in my ears was getting louder now. I didn’t do pain well, and I didn’t weigh enough to lose blood . . . at least not this much anyway.

  I made the mistake of looking at my pants; a fair amount of blood had soaked through already. “If I pass out . . .” I started to say when my mind went blank.

  “Phoebe! Can you hear me?” I could feel a gentle shake to my body. Marcus's voice was anxious.

  “Where are we?” My eyes were still closed.

  “We’re in the parking lot. You fainted,” he answered, his voice still strained.

  I opened my eyes slowly and looked around to see that we were once again beside his motorcycle.

  Marcus looked at the bike and then to my crumpled body in his arms. His expression turned worried.

  “Oh, I can ride,” I said trying to look alert.

  He looked at me skeptically; his eyebrows were raised in disbelief.

  “Really, I’ll be fine.”

  This looked to be against his better judgment. “We’ll go quickly,” he promised. He placed me on the back of the bike, gave me another uneasy look, before climbing on in front of me.

  I held on halfheartedly. My arms and hands were so sore; they felt as though they were on fire. As for my leg, I’d have to get these jeans off to see the extent of the damage—but I knew it was bad.

  I don’t remember the ride home. It may have been that I was in so much pain that I’d passed out, yet managed to hold on. Or it may have been that we traveled at such a speed that would have made the crew of the Starship Enterprise jealous.

  I was in front of my house and back in Marcus’s arms in minutes. He carried me inside and placed me gently on the couch.

  “Let’s have a look, shall we?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “You don’t have to,” I insisted. “I can do it.” I gently tried to push him away.

  I put on my game face quick. There was no way I was going to have him clean me up. I saw how sick he looked; there was no need to gross him out any further.

  This was just my luck. I finally meet an incredibly handsome man that seems to truly care for me—though I can’t figure out why—and what do I do? I fall off a cliff in a pout and mangle my body. It was classic Phoebe at her worst.

  I started to get up. My mind was lifting me off the couch but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. My top half fell over, and my bloodied hands came out to block my face from hitting the floor.

  “Ow, ow.” I pulled myself up and slumped back into the cushions. I began blowing on my hands, trying to relieve the burning sensation.

  Reluctantly, my eyes met his. Marcus had turned his head so that I couldn’t see him smile. I glared at him, annoyed that he found this funny.

  He cleared his throat and composed his face as he turned back toward me. “Are you ready to let me help you?” he asked. He turned his head quickly, trying to hide a smile.

  “Bathroom—top shelf!” I pointed toward the bathroom.

  He came back with my first aid kit still smiling. “I think we’d better wrap your hands first. You may need them if you try to get off the couch again.”

  “Very funny,” I frowned.

  He took my hands carefully, wrinkling his nose as he examined them. His eyes grew darker as he stared at the drying blood.

  I gently slipped my hands out of his. “I can do it,” I said quietly.

  “No. I can help you.”

  “They’re really not that bad,” I said as I started squeezing on the Neosporin tube.

  He un-wrapped a Band-aid for me and softly placed it on the palm of my hand, being careful not to touch any of the blood.

  “You see, I can do this,” he stated proudly. He was trying so hard to help me that he was willing to endure what clearly made him sick. Who was this guy? I smiled to myself.

  My hands were the easy part, and my elbows hurt worse than they looked. There was however a large scrape across my stomach that was still bleeding lightly. I winced as I pulled the material away from the wound.

  Marcus cringed. He closed his eyes, got up and walked to the other side of the room. He was looking out my window, his hands in fists on either side of the frame, holding on for support.

  “Are you okay?” I asked after a few minutes.

  “Blood . . . has a different effect on me than most.” His voice sounded different, not his own.

  “Is your throat alright; your voice sounds funny, almost raspy. You’re not getting sick are you?” I worried.

  “No! Are you ready to look at your leg?” he asked impatiently.

  “No I’m not,” I answered quickly.

  He turned to me; his face was strained, but it was softening as he could see that I was done bandaging my stomach.

  “Why don’t you want to take care of your leg?” He looked perplexed.

  “Several reasons.” I shifted uneasily.

  He looked down on me, folded his arms across his chest, and waited.

  “I can’t get my pants off, without them rubbing across my knees.”

  He frowned at me, interrupting my train of thought.

  “It’ll hurt!” I insisted.

  He looked at me with disbelief. There was no question he thought I was a wimp; I was sure of it. He should talk. I wasn’t the one freaking out over a little blood. Well, not much anyway.

  “If your leg was ripped open, you wouldn’t want to scrape denim across it either!” I added defensively.

  “And reason number two?” he asked, looking not very hopeful after hearing reason number one.

  I looked away. I didn’t want to see his face. “I’ll just wait until you’ve gone. I don’t want to gross you out any more than I have,” I said in almost a whisper. I could feel my face heating with embarrassment.

  His fingers lightly took my chin. I hadn’t even heard him move. Marcus turned my head so that I had no choice but to look up into his glorious face.

  “You don’t . . . ‘gross’ me out.” He smiled softly as he repeated my phraseology. He knelt down beside me.

  “Maybe not me personally, but I know all this . . .” I pointed to my arms and held up my hands for him to see the many Band-aids that now covered me, “. . . makes you sick.”

  I could feel the tears starting to build up in my eyes. I held them back. I felt so bad for him, trying to help me when it clearly made him ill . . . and me being such a wimp about being hurt. I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. This had to be the most painful fall I’d ever taken. Why did it have to happen in front of Marcus?

  He cracked a smile. “I think I can get your pants off quickly enough.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before,” I muttered sarcastically.

  Marcus shot me a disapproving look. “Hmm . . .” He reached out and began to unbutton my jeans.

  I put my hands on top of his to stop him. Embarrassment once again, coating my cheeks, while worry filled my eyes.

  “I promise,” he spoke tenderly. “It will not hurt.”

  My grip loosened, I didn’t understand why I trusted him so much. I knew they had to come off, but my tolerance for pain was extremely low. I closed my eyes tight.

  I felt a quick pull at my zipper, and then a loud rip!

  My eyes popped open as I looked at my naked and badly bloodied leg. Marcus turned his head, averting his eyes. I hastily pulled the denim back over my lower half, covering my underwear.

  “How did you do that?” I gasped.

  “I’m really strong,” he shrugged, looking back at me.

  My chance to marvel at his super human strength was short lived. My legs were worse than I’d thought. They were scraped from my knees down both shins. The more severe cut on my right thigh was
bleeding heavily now that the pants were no longer there to clot it.

  Marcus's eyes fixed on this particular area. He instantly flinched away from me. His nose wrinkled as his lips started to curl up over his teeth. A dull hiss escaped from within him. He turned abruptly so I couldn’t see his face.

  I instinctively pulled my legs back, ignoring the pain as I tried to move myself into the couch as much as possible. Every instinct I had told me to run, but I was frozen. My mind raced as I tried to understand what was happening.

  “I can’t help you,” he hissed.

  “It’s . . . ok,” I said shakily. “Y—you don’t have to stay, I’ll take care of it.”

  “I don’t want to leave you without explaining.” I could hear the pain in his voice. “I’ll be back when you’re finished.” He moved so fast through my door that if my eyes had been relaxed enough to blink, I’d have missed it.

  I sat on the couch motionless, completely in shock. My eyes darted around me, my heart beating wildly. What was going on? Marcus acted like some kind of feral animal, hissing? That was not normal. I took a deep breath and sighed with relief that he was gone.

  My leg. I needed to take care of my leg. I moved my arm an accidentally bumped my wound with my elbow. “Damn it!” I pulled the rest of my pants off and launched them across the room with as much force as I could muster. Mad that I’d been so careless.

  I tried to put pressure around the cut to see just how badly it was bleeding. I probably needed stitches, I growled mentally. I began cleaning and bandaging my leg as best I could. My knees received a few small Band-aids but mostly they were covered in scrapes like my shins.

  I leaned back on a pillow, closed my eyes, and wondered if I would see Marcus again. Did I really want to see him again? On one hand, I felt drawn to him for some unexplainable reason; I wanted him close to me. I needed him. On the other hand, I was afraid of him. All sense I had told me he was dangerous, that I should run . . .