I headed back out and set the kit beside me on the floor.

“Let me help you.” I took the towel and began to dab at this knuckles, hoping to remove some of the dirt. “You should probably run this under some water and wash it with soap.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Aly.” His expression was soft, but filled with confession. Like this happened all the time.

“I hope there wasn’t someone on the receiving end of this.”

Jared laughed mildly, a warm sound that contradicted his hard exterior.

It made me smile.

“No… not this time, unless a grungy wall counts.”

“I suppose not,” I said, sitting up on my knees to get a better look. I scrunched up my nose. “God, you smell like a Dumpster.” He might as well have taken a bath in booze.

“Well, I’ve got to smell better than I feel. Pretty sure my head might explode.”

“And whose fault is that?” I challenged, eyeing him.

I thought maybe he’d lash out at me. Instead he sighed. “Mine, Aly. It’s always mine.”

His answer stung, and I immediately wished I could take the accusation back. I knew the root of the issues he bore, the blame he laid on himself, the constant burden he carried.

I fought the urge to hug him, pictured myself inching forward, whispering in his ear that I’d share it with him if he’d let me.

Biting my lip, I focused on cleaning one hand with the towel as best I could, avoiding looking at his face. But I could feel him staring at me, could feel the power of his eyes as they watched me. My heart beat a little faster.

“Almost done with this one,” I said, giving in and glancing at him. A soft smile touched just one side of his mouth. Quickly, I looked away. I poured some peroxide onto a cotton ball and gently ran it over his wounds.

He hissed. “Shit… that stings.”

I cringed. “Sorry.”

Placing a piece of square gauze over the knuckles of his hand, I lifted it to wrap medical tape around it to keep the bandage in place.

He sighed as I worked. “Aly, listen… ” His voice was quiet and took on an undertone of regret. The short flare of softness he’d watched me with last night again transformed his eyes. “I’m really sorry about the way I acted this morning.”

I knew his apology was genuine, and maybe I should have let him get away with it. But I didn’t want to. What he’d done hurt me. I twisted my jaw as I looked up at him, blindly dabbing at his other hand as I called him out on it. “Are you always an asshole?”

This time his quiet laughter was hard. “What did you expect me to be, Aly?”

“Different,” I said, fully pinning him with my eyes.

“But I’m not.” His voice was gentle, and I was sure I didn’t believe him. “I wasn’t lying to you this morning. You don’t need my shit and I can’t handle yours.”

I struggled to make sense of how he’d changed the words and the hint of desperation he’d injected in them.

“We were friends once,” I said, picking up his other hand to begin cleaning it. “At least I thought we were.”

His lids dropped closed for the longest moment. When he opened them, he reached out to gently trace his fingertips along the whitened scar barely visible along the outside of my forearm from when I’d fallen out of the tree. His fingers were rough. Perfect.

My lips parted as goose bumps rose on my skin. I shivered, and he pulled away. He pressed his lips together, his head cocked to the side as he sat back. “Yeah, I guess we were.”

“Are you not allowed to have one now?”

He laughed softly, an incredulous sound as he shook his head. It appeared as if he was shaking it at himself. “Aly, you’re killing me.”

I frowned. “I don’t get you, Jared. Did you think you could stay here and I’d just ignore you? I care about you.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, something like grief flashing in his eyes.

“But I do. I always have.”

He attempted to pull away, but I held tight. “Friends,” I emphasized. At the very least, he owed me that.

With his free hand, he scratched at the side of his head, and a teasing smile slowly worked its way onto his mouth. “Fine, Aly, we can be friends. Do you have a note you need me to X the box on, too?” He gave me an exaggerated eye roll.

I thought maybe he deserved a punch in the arm, exactly like I’d given him when he made fun of me for the letter he found that I was going to give to Zachary Braggs in the fourth grade. I laughed a little. “You’re such a jerk.”

Everything about him softened when he tugged at a lock of my hair. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Pretty sure you’re going to regret being a friend of mine.”

“You’re completely full of shit, you know. You don’t scare me for a second.” It was a lie, of course. Pretty much all my fears were wrapped up in him.

His face darkened. “I’m not trying to scare you, Aly.”

“Then don’t.”

Jared

What the hell was I doing?

Everything about this situation was wrong. Aly kneeling in front of me. Touching me. She was close, too close. I could taste her breath, and I kept catching hints of that fucking delicious coconut body wash I’d used last night. Somehow it smelled a thousand times better on her.

These urges constantly hit me, and I couldn’t help imagining what it’d be like to bury my nose in the haven behind her ear, to press my mouth to her jaw, to tangle my hands in her hair. Against my better judgment, which could so easily be called into question, anyway, I gave in. Took a little.

I was always so good at taking.

The strand of hair I tugged between my fingers was soft, like silk against my callused skin. The action should’ve been innocent enough. I remembered doing it often when we were children, just a small act of affection to let her know it was okay she was there. There was never anything more to it than that.

But I knew better now, knew it would stir the need I’d felt in the pit of my stomach since I found her backed against that wall last night, since she’d driven me half-mad in her kitchen this morning, since I’d stumbled into her apartment like the piece of trash I was tonight. Somehow she still found me worthy, kneeling in front of me as if I deserved even a scrap of the attention she gave me now.

With her head down, she attended to the wounds on my other hand. I allowed my gaze to fall, to trace the face I wanted to trace with my hands.

I didn’t think I’d ever felt intrigued by a girl before the way I was now, had never wanted to crawl inside someone’s mind to dig through her thoughts, to find out who she was. Why she was. Aly’s green eyes were both fierce and soft, her touch both intent and gentle. She was kind, yet she didn’t hesitate to call me out on my shit. She made me itch and squirm, made me want to run and want to stay.

She began taping up my second hand, forging this little truce between us, steadily sucking me deeper into a place I knew I shouldn’t go.

But I couldn’t stop it.

There was something about being alone with her in the seclusion of this apartment that I liked, like maybe we were sharing some kind of secret that no one else could touch.

A distorted sense of security.

For just a little while, I wanted to drift in the delusion.

I watched her as she worked. Every couple of seconds, she glanced up at me with those eyes that seemed to know more than they should.

Aly shifted closer. I attempted to scoot back without her noticing, but she tugged on my hand. “Would you hold still? You’re worse than a two-year-old,” she said.

Was she completely oblivious to what she was doing to me? Every time she moved, her chest brushed against my knees, and damn, if it wasn’t the greatest temptation I’d ever had to endure. Did she know how badly I wanted to touch her? To take a little more? Maybe take it all? My thoughts raced ahead, and I wondered what she’d do if I edged off the couch and laid her back on the floor. Would she stop me? Or would she allow me to feed off her compassion and goodness? Would she let me wreck her? Destroy her? Because that was the only thing I knew how to do.