by C. E. Wilson
Maybe he’ll just shock me until I stop moving.
The door flies open and light pours into the room.
“N-no!” I cry out through the tie around my mouth. My voice is muffled and frightened and as the large silhouette fills the frame, my crying turns into gasping. I can barely catch my breath. My cries are painful and throaty… I don’t care who hears. Who cares? Griff doesn’t. “Fease,” I beg through the tie, trying to get some recognizable words out. “I won loo ah im! I won loo ah im eva!”
The steps come closer and I curl up. No. Please, High and Mighty, no. I don’t want this life, but I do want to live. I don’t want to die!
“Fease,” I beg as the steps stop behind me. “Fease… don oo is,” I say through heavy sobbing.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die.
A hand falls on my shoulder, and I scream and flinch away.
“Eleven?” a voice asks. I whip around to face the owner.
***
Reese stands behind me. It’s Reese. Thank High and Mighty. As I look up at him, I can’t help but feel small. His face is twisted with anger and concern as he looks down and his intense eyes trace over the wound and the large puddle of blood around my leg.
“W-what… what happened?” he croaks.
I can’t tell him – I can’t bring myself to tell him his girlfriend, or whatever she is, and one of his close friends are responsible for my injuries. As he keeps saying, we all have our roles to play and I will not mess up his by making him mistrust his friends.
“Something happened,” he says as he crouches down. I flinch when his hand goes to reach forward and he pulls back slightly. “You’re bleeding,” he continues. “What the hell? Who would hurt you for no reason?” He looks over his shoulder past the door and towards the window where he came in. “Come on, I’ll help you wash off. I can bandage it.” He finally removes the tie from my mouth.
After coughing and trying to regain my voice, I croak out that he doesn’t need to worry about it. He should go. He shouldn’t be here.
“I wasn’t asking,” Reese says, reaching for my arm without hesitation. “Get up.” When I cave weakly against him, he only pulls harder. “Get up,” he says firmly. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding. It doesn’t look like you’re cut too deeply…” The trailing in his voice hints the opposite is true, but he probably doesn’t want me to freak out. “I still want to help.” He pulls me to my feet, wraps an arm around my shoulders, and leads me to the bathroom.
He opens the mirror-less cabinet over the sink and pulls out some medical tape.
“There are no bandages,” he says. “But medical tape is better than nothing. It’s going to sting when I take it off next time.”
I’m too tired to remind him that there probably won’t be a next time. As he touches my leg, I bite my lip in pain.
“Shh,” he coaxes me. “It’s all right. This will help.”
He looks down at my exposed legs, wondering perhaps how he’s going to wrap me up. His eyes meet mine.
“We’re going to have to wash that first, Eleven.”
My face reddens. “It… it’s okay,” I say. I’m surprised at how weak I sound. I try to look at Reese, but my eyes won’t focus. He no longer looks to be in his school uniform, but he’s still dressed in a way that makes me self-conscious and embarrassed. I’m still nothing more than a broken, battered girl with a ruined face.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me under the showerhead. “I can help.”
“N-no—” I say as a cry rises up. “You don’t have to. I can do it.”
“Let me help,” he mutters. He gently but firmly pulls me under the weak stream of flowing water. “I owe you—”
“You’ll get wet—”
“And then I’ll get dry,” he says in return. “I’m not leaving you.”
“What… what were you even doing here in the first place?” I see him bite his lower lip.
“Can we talk later? Please?”
I want to ask if he was there because of Celia and Griff, but there’s no way I can without either pissing Reese off more or revealing who damaged me in the first place. I have to tell myself there’s no way Reese would be involved, but the fact he showed up through the window randomly was mighty suspicious. As Reese gently maneuvers me under the shower, I focus on staying upright. The multiple shocks and loss of blood were making me very lightheaded and it was hard to stay in place.
“Geez… get your head out of the way,” Reese softly commands, taking my wrist. “We’re trying to wash off your leg, not your hair.” Despite my haggard appearance, he smiles carefully and crouches down. Some of the water drops on his head and shoulders, but if it’s bothering him, he doesn’t let it show. My shorts barely cover my thighs and I watch in fascination as Reese cups some water and lets it fall over my skin.
“I… I can do that,” I rasp.
“No. I’ll do it. You’re still pretty week. Your hands are shaking…” He trails off as he takes more water and massages his hands into my skin.
The cut on my thigh isn’t as bad as it seems so it doesn’t take long for Reese to wash the blood away. The water is clear, but Reese shows no signs of stopping. His hands are all over my thighs and his fingertips brush against my knees and the sensitive spots behind them. I whimper, desperately trying to remain composed.
His wanting to help is nothing more than his own guilt.
“You’re lucky you weren’t more seriously hurt,” Reese says gruffly. “This could easily be a lot deeper. You probably don’t want to think about it… but you’re lucky.”
“So lucky,” I whisper bitterly. “What were you doing here?” I ask him again as he turns the water down. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Yeah…” he trails off, looking away.
He’s still crouched down on one knee and he pulls out more medical tape from his pocket to bandage me up. I can barely control my breathing. I can’t believe how gentle and soft his hands are. Shawn has nice hands, but he rarely uses them to be gentle with me. I press my hand up to the nearest wall to steady myself. I need to gain courage if I’m going to ask him.
“I think it’s odd you showed up right after they left,” I mutter. I feel Reese flinch slightly and I try to backpedal. “I mean… it’s all too convenient.”
He stops bandaging and looks up. His hair’s caught in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly flicks it away with a snap of his neck. I see the hurt and confusion in his eyes. “Are you asking what I think you are?”
“I…”
“Because if you have something you want to ask me, I’d prefer if you’d do it straight out.”
“Reese, I…”
“You think I’m involved, don’t you?” he asks. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“I didn’t say it—”
“You’re thinking it,” he says.
“Were you?”
He stands up and I’m quickly reminded of how tall he is. Thoughts about tucking my head under his chin come rushing back in a fury. He frowns.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” he asks. His voice is low and serious.
“I think I have a right to know and—”
“No. No, dammit. I’m not involved. Don’t you listen to me? Do you think everything I say is a lie?”
“How am I supposed to know?” I hiss. My strength’s coming back since blood’s no longer falling from my cut. My hair’s still wet and matted to my face and the thin shirt clings to my body, but Reese couldn’t seem less interested in the accidental peep show. He’s only staring at my eyes and face. As I look at how upset he is I can’t help but feel I misjudged him completely, but I won’t drop my suspicions. “Beauties lie,” I say.
He tenses up. “So that’s it, huh? You think I’m lying. You think I’m a liar because I’m a Beauty?”
“I didn’t say—”
“So what are you saying?” he asks. His voice comes out like a growl and, without waiting for my response
, he spins on his heel and leaves the bathroom. I quickly follow as he goes to the door.
“Where… where are you going?” I croak.
“Where do you think? I’m leaving,” he says. “You’re bandaged up. You’ll be okay. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
“But I want you to—”
“What for?” he asks, whipping his head around. “You think I’m a liar. You think I’m here because…” he angrily shakes his head, “… I don’t even know why you think I’m here. I didn’t bandage you up for kicks. I want to help you, Eleven. I about had a heart attack when I saw you.”
“But why were you here?” I ask, growing desperate. I step up closer to him and he practically backs into the door. I raise my hands so he can see them. “I’m happy you’re here, but I want to know why. You said earlier why you care about me—”
His face contorts. Why does he have to look like he’s in pain? “I told you to forget about that,” he says in a low voice.
“I… I don’t want you to go. I don’t think you’re a liar. I’m…” I lower my head in frustration. Why does he have to play this game? Why does he have to say nice things and then in the same breath, ask me to forget his words? I look down at his shoes, noticing how wet they are. He’s going to leave. He’s probably had enough of me. Why waste so much time on someone like me?
“What?” he asks at last. He doesn’t move to get any closer, but he doesn’t press himself more against the door. He doesn’t open it. “What are you scared of?”
“I’m scared of you,” I say at last.
“Scared of me?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “I’ve been nothing but nice—”
“And that’s why I’m scared of you,” I say, still looking down at his shoes. “You’re nice. You’re kind. You bring gifts, but when I’m about to open up… you say not to think about what you said. You say not to take them seriously.” Damn, verbal vomit. “I mean… how can you expect me not to take you seriously? You’ve said some of the nicest things anyone’s ever said and I don’t understand your motives. What am I supposed to think?” I grip my hands into fists. “What am I supposed to think, Reese?”
Silence settles over us as I try to compose myself.
I will not cry. I will not cry in front of him.
But the silence is deafening. I see his shoes shift uncomfortably and I’m convinced he’s waiting for an opening to run. I’m not giving up yet.
“Say something, why don’t you?” I ask in a broken voice.
“Are you going to look at me?” he asks softly.
“What for?” I ask, hoping he’ll be kind. I’m searching for his kind words like a starving man in a desert. Or a starving Potential in a basement with the most gorgeous person she’s ever seen standing right in front of her.
“Look at me,” is all he says.
I lift my head slowly, expecting to find him looking upset, but what I’m met with makes me hate my role in the world even more. Reese looks as crestfallen as I feel. As tortured as I feel. The usual brightness in his purple eyes is dulled and muted, but somehow his lower lip looks more kissable than ever. I fight my natural instinct to kiss him.
“The reason I’m here is because I overheard Griff and Celia talking,” he says carefully. “I was in the bathroom while she was at my house earlier this evening and wasn’t watching her volume, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I couldn’t help but wonder if she was talking about you.”
“What… what did she say?”
He reddened. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters. “The point is, I felt terrible about how I snapped at you earlier and left without saying anything.”
“So you felt bad,” I whisper, still looking up at him.
“It’s more than that—” he cuts himself off. “I tried calling Griff, but his phone was off. I didn’t know what else to do so I got over here as fast as I could. Griff’s car was in the street as I pulled up so I stopped a few houses shy and turned off the lights. I’d only been there a few minutes when I saw someone running towards his car. It was Griff, but I couldn’t go running up and draw attention to myself.”
“Of course not,” I say.
“I wanted to,” he says firmly, “but the house lights were still on. I didn’t know what to think. Griff looked like he was in a panic and sped away. I didn’t know if sirens would go off or if someone had called the police. I waited ten minutes or so and tried calling Griff again. No answer. I tried Celia next and by then, I’d had enough. Griff had suddenly appeared at the side of the house, so I snuck over and found this window open. It froze my blood, Eleven.” He lowered his chin. “I was scared of what I would find and that I took longer than I should have. I was scared of confirming what I knew.”
“Which was?”
“Griff and Celia planned to mess you up,” he says. “I’m a coward—”
“You’re not a coward,” I say, trying to comfort him. I can’t stand the broken look in his eyes. He shouldn’t beat himself up.
“I am, though. My aunts say I need to be patient and blend in, but you’re getting hurt and I’m not even ballsy enough to help? How am I not a coward?”
“You’re a high member of society,” I say.
His face contorts. “Geezus, Eleven. Don’t say that. I’m not like them. It’s… I can’t… I can’t mess this up. If this is going to happen—”
“If what’s going to happen?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “If I’m going to survive… I can’t get too involved. I’ve worked so hard to get to this point.”
“So don’t do anything,” I whisper. “Leave.”
“I can’t…” he mutters. “I can’t leave you.”
“Because you feel bad?”
“What the...” he asks, scrunching up his nose. “No. That’s not why.”
“So why?” I look back down at his shoes. “Because of what you said earlier?”
He clears his throat and doesn’t answer the question. He doesn’t want to blurt it out a second time.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says instead. “Relatively speaking. From what Celia said on the phone, this could have been a lot worse. If Paulson ever figures out—”
“He can’t know… I mean… you don’t know for sure if it was them,” I say. “You don’t know for sure, do you?”
“I saw his car, Eleven. Griff’s involved.”
“And Celia?”
His frown deepens. “I guess I can’t say for sure about Celia.”
“That’s right. You can’t.”
“So you’re protecting her, now?”
“I’m protecting you, and I’m protecting myself.”
His hand twitches. “I’m going to tell Paulson,” he says at last.
My head snaps up. “W-what? No! You can’t!”
“I have to, Eleven. I don’t want Griff anywhere near you if he’s going to pull stunts like this. Paulson would—”
“Shawn can’t do anything,” I say over him. “Griff’s mom is his boss.”
His expression changes. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yes — I mean—”
“So he was down here!”
“I thought you said you saw him.”
“I thought I did, but I wanted to make sure. Geezus. You mean he actually came down here and...” I glance up and his face is red. “He cut you? He tried to ruin you? And then he said his mom is Paulson’s boss?” I look away. “Did he? Is that what he said?”
“So what if he did? Paulson can’t do anything and—”
“He’s a liar! Paulson is his mom’s boss, not the other way around. He said that so you’d keep your mouth shut. Crafty asshole. I’ll kill him.”
“You can’t,” I say. “What about what you said? About keeping up appearances?”
“Forget it,” he growls. “I don’t care what my aunts say. Hiding is stupid. If people are getting hurt and they expect me to sit around and wait…”
“Reese. I’m not a person.”
>
He stops ranting and looks down at me. “What? What did you say?”
“I said… I’m not a person. You shouldn’t get yourself in trouble over me.”
“Is… is that what you think?”
“Which part?” I murmur.
“You’re a person, Eleven.”
“I’m a Potential.”
“A Potential is still a person and you’re not just some random Potential,” he snaps. “Shut up. Don’t say that. You’re a person and that’s that.”
“Reese, I—”
“I’m not arguing with you,” he snaps a second time. “And you’re not telling me what to do. You’ve always been a person and I…” He trails off, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“How could you lose me when you’ve never had me?” I ask quietly.
Instead of answering, Reese sinks to his knees, surprising me. I look down at the top of his head. He’s trembling, and with hands quaking, his arms snake around my legs and he hugs me to him, pressing his cheek into my stomach.
I’m stunned. “R-Reese?” I ask. My hands hover in the air, desperate to hug him back, but I can’t bring myself to touch his beautiful shape. He’s perfect. Even frightened, broken, and secretive… he’s flawless, but I still don’t understand what he’s doing.
“I was afraid,” he mutters into my damp shirt. “Afraid I lost you again.”
There are those words. Losing me. Again. How? How did this make sense? He’s still trembling as I realize he’s crying. Why? Why cry over me? Why go through all of this trouble for someone he didn’t even know?
And then my eyes widen.
“We… have we met before?” I ask slowly. My hand tentatively reaches forward and I stroke his soft silver hair. His grip tightens and my knees buckle. I want to collapse in his arms, but shock keeps me upright. There’s more to this than I ever imagined possible. And though he doesn’t answer me, I have a feeling I’ve finally figured out what it is.
The silver hair.
The soft, purple eyes.
Everything about Reese is suddenly not so unfamiliar and unreachable. The scent of chocolate explains why I’ve always found him so comforting.
“Pieces,” I say at last, looking down at the top of his head. “Reese’s Pieces.”
