I can’t survive another run-in with him where all I can do is lie and avoid. I’m tired of hurting him. Tired of pushing him away. Tired of not knowing what to do. All I can do is run. If I can just reach the corner, I can turn north. The street slopes uphill, and maybe I’ll be able to run faster without the puddles of standing water. I look over my shoulder. He’s so close. Soaked to the bone just like me.
I face forward again, just feet away from the corner, and I see something dark in my peripheral vision moments before it plows into my shoulder. It’s a man, jacket held above his head trying to stave off the rain. Maybe running toward one of the bars for cover or trying to find his vehicle. He reaches a hand out to me, but my feet can’t find purchase on the flooded ground, and I’m falling too fast. Too hard. I try to twist to catch myself with my hands, but before they even reach concrete, my head connects with something hard, and the storm, everything, disappears.
Pain comes back first. Sharp and bright. I can’t feel anything beyond the throbbing too-fullness of my head, like the rest of me doesn’t even exist. I groan, and my whole body jerks of it’s own accord.
“Shit.”
Something presses hard on my head, and I try to push it away, but my arms don’t listen.
“Hang on, Kalli. We’re on our way. You’re going to be okay.”
I force myself to drag open my heavy eyes, but everything is shadowy, indiscernible shapes.
“W-What?”
“You’re awake. Thank God. Oh thank God.”
Something pushes on my head again, and this time I manage to jerk back from the pain. My body lurches forward against something I hazily identify as a seatbelt. Then the pressure is back on my head.
“Don’t, baby. You’re bleeding. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“What? No.”
“I couldn’t wait for an ambulance. It was pouring outside and you were soaked. And there was all this watery blood around the lamppost where you hit your head. I was so goddamn scared. Tell me what you feel. Can you see all right? Can you move everything?”
My vision sharpens, revealing the inside of Wilder’s vehicle, and the dashboard clock that reads 11: 51 P.M.
“You can’t take me to the hospital.”
I can’t walk into the emergency room with a bleeding head wound only for it to heal right before their eyes.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous.”
The car jerks again as he tries to keep one hand on the wheel, and the other pressing what I now realize is his wet shirt against my head.
I push his hand away, taking hold of the shirt myself. “Listen to me, Wilder. You can’t take me to the hospital.”
“I don’t care about whatever the shit is you’re running from. I don’t know if you’re in trouble or scared or what, but none of that is worth your life, Kalli.”
“I’m not going to die. I promise you. Take me home, and I’ll be just fine.”
“No—”
“Take me home!” I yell.
His wild eyes snap to mine, and I can see how afraid he is. We’re both drenched, and he’s shirtless. There is blood on his hands and some smeared on his cheek, and I’m sure I look far worse.
Softer this time, I say, “Take me home, Wilder.” I glance at the clock. “And in seven minutes, you’ll get all the answers you’ve been wanting from me. I’ll tell you everything.”
I can see him warring with himself.
“I’ve kept things from you. But I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Take me home, and I promise I’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”
“I can’t lose you.” His voice is gruff. Raw.
“Things are … complicated. But you’re not going to lose me. Well, not unless you decide you don’t want anything to do with me after you hear the truth.”
He reaches over to grip my thigh, his fingers desperate against my flesh. “That will never happen.”
“Then trust me and take me home.”
With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, he switches lanes, abandoning his route toward the highway, and instead turns left toward my place.
That immediate catastrophe avoided, I sink back into the seat and close my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much the streetlights and passing cars had been paining me, until the relief of darkness washes over me.
“Kalli?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t fall asleep on me.”
The ragged terror in his voice makes me open my eyes. I hold his shirt against my head with my right hand so that I can reach over and lay my left on top of his forearm. He immediately shifts to lace his fingers with mine, and I close my eyes.
He squeezes my hand every few seconds as he drives, and I squeeze back. And I can’t bring myself to feel anything but relief at feeling this close to him again. I must fall asleep even though he asked me not to, because I come to with my door open and his hands on my face.
“Damn it, Kalli. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No. I’m up. Sorry. Just … just take me inside.”
He helps me from the vehicle, his arm wound tight around my waist, and I lean my weight into him. Even through the rain, he smells familiar. Like Wilder. I fish my keys out of my pocket and hand them to him, and he pushes through the front door and leads me straight to the bathroom that sits across from my bedroom.
“What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
No, not quite.
“What time is it exactly?”
He glances at his watch. “Two til.”
One look in the mirror reveals his white shirt is tinged pink by water and blood. I drop it in the sink, knowing it’s well past its usefulness.
“Hey!” Wilder grabs a hand towel off the holder by the sink and tries to press it over the wound on my forehead, but I put a hand out to stop him. It’s still bleeding, but just a slow trickle. The rain washed away most of the blood from before, but there are still a few marks and stains.
Two minutes.
I kick off my shoes and hold out my hand to Wilder.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re getting in the shower.”
“Kalli.” He still doesn’t take my hand, so I turn and push aside the curtain instead. I step in the tub, still wearing my dress, rust-colored stains splotched down the front. It’s a barbaric replay of our first night together, but this time we’re at my apartment, and instead of kissing him, I’m about to change everything about the way he sees me. About the way he sees the world, too. I start the water, letting the faucet run and the water warm up for a few moments, and Wilder steps inside. I turn to face him, and I mentally estimate, “One minute.”