chapter eight

~ T H E N ~

“Tom, quit it! Oh my God,” Sarah whined as he continued to cling onto us, an arm around both our shoulders as he obnoxiously sang some lyrics to High For This by The Weeknd, even though it was neither playing inside the house nor was he high. 

I laughed and finally managed to duck under his arm and twist out of his hold, his singing faltering only slightly before he tightened his arm around Sarah’s shoulder and kissed her sloppily on the cheek, causing the boys around us to laugh in encouragement.

“Thomas Goldberg. Let me go right this instant!” She snapped causing me to grin widely at the hurt look on his face, staring at her as if he were a kicked puppy.

“Ooh, better let her go, Tommy; she just used your whole name,” I teased making Sarah scrunch her nose up in annoyance and for Tom to finally let her go with a pout.

She walked off straight away.

“You made her mad,” Jackson stage-whispered, eyes widened in mock-fear.

“She’s going to come back with a knife,” Oliver, another friend of ours, added in the same voice as Jacks.

Tom’s frown deepened, eyes sliding between our group who all said the same kind of things teasingly before his familiar grey eyes finally fell onto me. “You don’t think she’s actually mad at me, do you?” he asked, voice low and pleading as his glazed over eyes studied me seriously.

I did my best not to laugh.

“No, Tommy,” I forced a genuine smile as I patted his cheek lightly, “Of course not.”

He grinned at me, relieved, and then kissed me on the cheek quickly, landing only millimetres away from my mouth which caused me to cringe and then laugh.

He was so wasted.

“But, you know… I wouldn’t go anywhere near her tonight,” I added as he pulled away, “You know, just to be sure.”

He nodded in agreement, eyes wide before a sudden commotion took our attention away, the sound of screams and shouts meeting my ears and causing me to turn around in surprise.

There was a fight.

“Hey,” Tom grinned suddenly as Jackson and the rest of the boys got off the porch to get a closer look at the fight. “Isn’t that Storm?” Tom asked as he squinted into the dark of the night just as my eyes fell on the said boy.

“Oh shit,” I hissed, immediately jumping off the porch. “Stay here,” I threw over my shoulder to Tom who looked more than happy to stay where he was, leaning against the porch beam with his eyes trained on the growing circle of people that was now doubling in numbers.

I cursed the boy with golden eyes until I had somehow managed to shove my way to the front of the circle, using my short height to my advantage. By then, both boys were already bleeding and on the ground, fists swinging and insults tossed around like it was nothing.

It was like a typical scene from a book or movie, where not a single person was trying to stop them except the protagonist who knew one of the fighters. What they always seemed to forget to add, however, was that watching someone fight will always be ugly – even if it was one of the most attractive guys you knew.

It was ugly and raw and scary as hell.

Especially when the said boy was the one currently winning, sat on top of the other guy with his fists pounding into his face.

It wasn’t until someone had suddenly shoved me forward accidentally that what was happening really clicked. Before I knew it I was upon them, screaming something at them over the cheering and the music and the encouragement.

When I realised that neither of them were planning to stop any time soon, I grabbed Storm by the shirt and pulled him back, begging him to stop only to have him shrug me off and for the guy on the ground to finally take a swing at Storm's face, something crunching before blood started to pour out of his nose.

“Please, for goodness sake! Storm, stop!” I screamed, and when I did – when I finally said his name – he paused and looked up at me but the second he did so two other guys grabbed him by the arms and hauled him up, whilst another two helped the other guy up and dragged him away.

Once that was settled, I turned around and faced everyone, a hard look on my face. “Show’s over assholes! Get on with your lives!” I called over their hyped-up chatter and the thumping of music still coming from inside.

No one moved.

“Go on!” another voice bellowed much louder than I ever could. “You heard the girl!” Thomas called out, suddenly beside me.

“I thought I told you to stay where you were,” I said turning to him the second people scattered like rats, my eyes narrowed. “I had it handled,” I grumbled, not yet ready to turn around to take in the damage that was on Storm and that was Storm.

“Not until the boys came in, and who do you think told them to stop it?” Tom asked, arms crossed over his chest and looking every bit like an overprotective best friend – or brother, whichever suited.

I scowled and finally turned around just to get away from his smug look that somehow still held annoyance, only to find Storm doubled over and nursing a bloody nose as Oli and Jacks held a light conversation over his head as if it were no big deal.

“What the hell was all that about?” I finally asked exasperatedly as Tom and I came to a stop in front of the three of them.

Storm glanced at Tom and I before he looked away, fingers red and slick with blood and his knuckles raw and bruising.

I grimaced.

“Well?” I demanded looking around to the other boys and hoping that they’d have some kind of answer, even though all three of them had been with me before it all unfolded.

“Mia, maybe you should go help him get cleaned up. Oli and I can take him home when you’re done, and Jackson can take you and Sarah – wherever the hell she is.”

I scrunched my nose up in disgust as my eyes went back to take in Storm in all his bloodied glory, his eyes yet to meet mine as he uncomfortably shifted from foot to foot. Though his nose no longer bled as badly, the pain was still clear on his expression with every movement that he made.

“Why do I have to do it?” I shot back with a frown, my head turning away to look at Tom just as Storm lifted his head up enough to look at me.

“Mia-”

“It’s fine; I can do it myself,” Storm suddenly cut in, voice gruff as he finally met my gaze head on, eyes almost black in the midnight dark we stood in. He walked off before I could say anything, the hurt in his eyes hitting me like a slap in the face.

“Well, someone needs to help him,” Jacks piped in as we watched Storm retreat to the house alone.

“I don’t do well with blood,” Oli shrugged.

“And I am way too drunk to be of any help,” Tom nodded.

Their eyes fell on me simultaneously.

Ugh, I hate being friends with boys.

I groaned dramatically.

“Fine, you hopeless buttheads!” I snapped before I flipped my hair over my shoulders and walked off theatrically, their laughter following close behind.

Walking through the single-storey house, I wondered if I could use the ‘I got lost and couldn’t find him’ excuse but as I walked down the hallway I realised that even though it was a house full of over 80 people, it was much too small to lose someone. There was also only one bathroom by the looks of it; one that wasn’t connected to a bedroom anyway.

I knocked.

Knocked louder.

“What?” a muffled voice snapped from the other side.

I flinched.

“I-it’s Mia, can I come in?” I called out but not waiting for a reply before I opened the door and shut it behind me, my fears of the bathroom being tiny becoming true as I realised there was barely any room for one person to move around comfortably, let alone two.

“Yeah, sure, come right in,” Storm said sarcastically from where he was bent over the sink slightly, his face wet and slightly cleaner under the harsh light, but also pale and badly bruised in a few places.

I swallowed and met his unforgiving gaze in the mirror. “I came to help,” I said meekly shifting forward as he finally turned around to face me.

“That’s a surprise considering how disgusted you were when you could finally look at me,” Storm said coldly as he stood a little taller, basically towering over me since I wasn’t wearing any heels for once, his arms crossed over his chest which caused him to fill up almost half the room. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

“I-I wasn’t disgusted,” I lied timidly, only to have him glare at me and shake his head as he turned back to the mirror.

“Don’t lie to me, Mia. I know what I saw.”

I bit my lip and watched as he turned on the tap again before he ran his hands under the cool stream, wincing as it hit his raw sores.

“I just… it was unexpected,” I muttered as he grabbed a wet cloth that was slightly red from what I guessed was the blood he rubbed off of his face and hands. “It’s not every day you see an actual fist fight where that much blood is spilt,” I tried to explain, nose scrunching slightly at the memory of it.

When he didn’t reply and instead looked dead set on trying to rub the blood off his neck I sighed and took the cloth off him, ignoring his protests.

“Sit,” I said pointing at the toilet seat that was right between the sink and bathtub/shower thing.

He sat down hesitantly, a look in his eyes that made me know that he wanted to be mad, but wasn't – not exactly.

“I didn’t mean to be as rude as I was, that’s just how I get when Tom tries to boss me around.” I wash my hands and then cleaned out the cloth so that it was a normal blue rather than purple with blood. I turned off the tap and turned to him again as I touched his chin slightly in order to lift his head up to wipe off the blood.

“I’m sure that’s it,” Storm drawled sarcastically.

“It was,” I insisted.

He went quiet then, so quiet that I almost wanted to stop breathing as the silence between us threatened to choke me, the blood on his neck finally coming off only to show more bruises that looked like hands.

The asshole tried to choke him!

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly after I had pulled away to wash the cloth again, in warm water this time.

I met his gaze in the mirror, surprised. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, more sincerely this time as I turned off the tap and turned to him again, the toilet at a perfect height as his face was almost levelled with mine, but only slightly lower so his forehead would’ve touched my nose if we were any closer. “Sorry that I’m such an asshole. That you had to see what you did. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

I bit my lower lip and dropped my gaze again, awkward with apologies. “Well, at least it wasn’t me who you were hitting,” I joked stupidly as I went back to cleaning him again, his face this time as I noticed the dried blood in the places he must’ve missed.

Hands abruptly stopped my movements and my eyes move to meet his gaze again, honey in the light and ridden with complete solemnity. “Mia, I would never hurt you,” Storm said lowly, eyes unwavering as his hold loosened around my wrists.

I nodded and forced a smile.

“You know that, right?” he urged not once looking away, let alone moving an inch.

“Yeah,” I sighed at last. “I know that.”

He didn’t seem too satisfied with my half-arsed answer but he let me go anyway and I continued on with wiping his face and hair where blood had gotten into it.

“After all,” I forced a smile meeting his gaze again, “We’re Bedmates, right?”

He smiled then, a wonderful and genuine kind of smile that I realised I’d been missing, “Right.”

I took out the First Aid kit from the cupboard beneath the sink before I pointed at the bench thing the sink was on. “Can you sit here for me?” I asked shifting back and opening up the kit as I took out the needed necessities.

He did as I asked with a small chuckle and a bit of awkward and jerky movements due to the pain beneath his skin. “What are you, nurse in training?”

I smiled. “Something like that,” I murmured stepping in front of him and basically right between his legs as I put the stuff down beside him and asked for him to take off his shirt as well.

Of course, he smirked devilishly at that. “Trying to take me on the bench are you, Mia?” he winked.

“Oh shut up, do you want help or not?” I laughed shaking my head and trying not to blush as I watched him attempt to pull the shirt over his head.

He couldn’t.

“Jesus,” I muttered only to have him repeat my ‘oh shut up’ in a half-joking half-embarrassed tone. I stifled a laugh and leaned forward, having to almost press up against his body and between his legs in order to reach up and help him tug it off as he was way taller than me sitting on the bench – the top of my head barely reaching his shoulders.

“There, happy?” he asked as I scanned his bruised-up abdomen.

I wrinkled my nose and grabbed the wet cloth before wiping off whatever blood had seeped through his shirt and into his skin, “Not quite.”

Ask him now, ask him now, ask him now.

I swallowed, nervous all over again.

“So, what was the fight about?” I asked casually as I put the cloth down, took his hand in mine and started to inspect his reddened, cut up knuckles that were still kind of bleeding in some places.

“Oh, you know, he was trying to steal my girlfriend etcetera et cetera.”

My eyes met his in confusion, hurt simmering beneath the surface as I tried to play it off. I had to ask, “You have a girlfriend?”

Apparently I wasn’t very good at hiding anything.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, “After my obsessed last one? No thanks; not for a while anyway.”

Right.

“Oh,” I breathed out as I wrapped his knuckles in a bandage.

It was quiet for a long moment as I tended to his other hand before his soft sigh met my ears. “You know, if it weren’t for that deal I agreed to the last time I saw you, I’d love to take you out to make up for tonight,” he murmured, his stare burning into me as my cheeks warmed slightly and I shifted away from him to get the little ‘butterfly’ strips for the cuts on his face.

“It’s fine,” I said casually as I tried not to let his words affect me, eyes no longer holding his gaze or even looking at his face until I had to turn to tend to it again. “If you really want to make it up to me, then give me an explanation.” I gazed up at him and put the small strip over his left eyebrow that had been split from when he no doubt got punched in the eye, his left eye already starting to swell.

He stared at me intensely even as I looked away to put another butterfly strip against his cheekbone, “I… I can’t.”

I frowned, expecting that. After all it’s not like he really owed me anything; we weren’t exactly best friends or anything. In fact, we probably couldn’t even be classified as friends.

“If I could, I would. But it isn’t a very… interesting story; trust me.”

“Right, that’s what they all say,” I muttered, no longer looking at him now that I’d finished the worst of it. I cringed and can’t help but wonder: if he looked like this, then what did the other guy who was losing look like?

“Mia, seriously,” he sighed trying to hold my gaze as I washed my hands under warm water before telling him to hop off so I can check his back.

He sighed again and did as I said, looking rather upset all of a sudden.

I blanched at the bruises and cuts on his back.

“Do you always get into fights?” I asked, internally flinching at the thought as I noticed not only new cuts and bruises, but also old ones that were in the oddest of places, ranging from big to small and something I had never noticed before. Not that I could have, anyway, considering the only other times I had seen him without a shirt on was in the dark.

He stiffened as I put the cold and wet cloth between his shoulder blades and gently ran it along one of the small cuts – how he got it I had no idea. A rock on the ground, perhaps?

“I wouldn’t say always,” was his quiet reply as he bent over slightly so I could reach the top parts better, his fingers tightening around the white marble of the sink as I continued to clean his broad back.

“That’s reassuring,” I muttered under my breath, glancing at the door as I heard a loud knock and some slurred words from one of the drunken party goers before I placed a large adhesive bandage over the worst graze.

“I don’t do it out of fun,” he said as I opened up another adhesive bandage.

“Okay.”

“I don’t start them, either,” he added sounding more and more defensive.

“Okay.”

“Mia,” he said standing straighter and moving to turn around, only to have my hand on his shoulder prevent him from doing so as I placed a bandage over another cut.

“Storm,” I mocked in the same serious tone as he’d used, my attention on mending his injuries, rather than how good his bare back felt under my palms and the way his muscles contracted every time I touched him.

“I know it seems like it; but I’m not a bad guy.”

“Okay.”

“Forgodsake,” he exploded suddenly, turning around abruptly and almost shoving me over considering how small the space was and how close we’d been, “can you please say something other than okay?” 

I tried to ignore my beating heart and the shouts on the other side of the door, the way there was no longer an inch of space between us since he’d caught me mid-fall. I tried and failed to ignore how our bodies were pressed together tightly and how nice he felt against me and how I was too damn sober for this.

“Well,” I swallowed fisting my hands against his chest and holding his golden gaze, “What the hell do you want me to say? You ask me to trust you but how can I when I know almost nothing about you?”

“Then don’t trust me, just believe me. Have some faith in me,” he practically begged, voice soft as he lowered his head slightly to look me in the eyes a little better, our noses only inches away. “Just believe that I’m not some asshole who goes around starting fights. Believe that I’m not all that bad and dangerous and threatening.”

“Why should I?” I asked frowning, brows pulled together and my teeth sinking into my lower lip as I shifted away from him slightly, our bodies no longer touching but his hands still against my waist.

“Because,” he said eyeing my mouth for a moment before glancing up again. He forced a smile and muttered, “Because we’re Bedmates.”

I forced out a soft laugh at that, the breathy kind a person did when they didn’t want to laugh but did anyway. I said ‘fine’, shook my head and then fully shifted away from him, only able to take a step back before my heel hit the bathtub. I shuffled to the left to get to the First Aid Kit.

“Fine?”

“Well, you didn’t want me saying okay. So there: fine.”

“Fine,” he nodded, but he still didn’t seem all too happy, and whether it was because I obviously still didn’t believe him or whether it was because of all the bruises and cuts on his face that automatically made him look unhappy, I wasn’t so sure.

And he was right, I did think he was dangerous and threatening.

But anyone could be and it wasn’t like he did me any wrong, right?

I handed him his shirt with one hand and put everything back into the kit, feeling his stare on the side of my face the whole time even as I put it back under the sink. Even as I washed my hands, he stared at me. When I turned back around, he still hadn’t put his shirt on.

I looked at him quizzically.

“Can you, uh, can you help me? My back’s killing me at the moment,” he murmured softly, embarrassed but his eyes not once looking away – relentless and unwavering as usual. 

I smiled slightly and stepped forward, taking the shirt from his hands before I helped him put it on. I didn’t move when he finally got it on, instead I stood in front of him with my hands against his chest after I’d smoothed away the non-existent wrinkles, our toes almost touching and our faces so close that if I leant up onto my toes slightly we could have been kissing. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” I started, keeping my eyes on my hands which were flat against his chest, before slowly trailing them up to hold his gaze hesitantly. “I don’t think you’re all that terrible,” I paused momentarily at the sudden smile on his face before continuing; “After all you’re a friend of Tom’s. And if you’re as bad as you say you are then he would never have let me talk to you.” 

“You guys are pretty close, aren’t you?” he asked as I attempted to move around him to get to the door only to have him step back and lean against it, preventing me from leaving even though I’d finished my job already.

“Sadly, yes. I’ve known him for almost 5 years now,” I raised an eyebrow at him and self-consciously crossed my arms over my chest as he continued to stare. 

“Lucky him,” he smirked.

“Lucky him,” I reiterated, smirking too. “Now, can you move your ass? Tom and the boys will no doubt be here soon, wondering where the heck we are.”

“Can I kiss you?”

I blinked.

“What?” I questioned, dumbfounded because not only was I completely sober, but so was he from the look and smell of it.

There was a knock that suddenly made my heart go into overdrive. Or maybe it was the boy in front of me who stood straight again and had the devilish kind of look that made a girl get all kinds of hot and bothered.

“Can I kiss you?” he repeated, smirk growing as he ignored the person outside.

“Um-”

And then he leaned down and kissed me.

And, of course, I kissed him back.

It could have lasted for only a few seconds or minutes or hours for all I cared, but all I could think of as he pulled away was that it didn’t last for long enough. I wanted more.

“What-what was that for?” I asked, bemused and breathless even though it definitely could not have lasted very long since the inconsistent knocking went from soft and hesitant to loud and consistent, Tom’s muffled voice finally meeting my ears.

“Since I can’t take you out, think of it as a thank you.”

“For what?” I glanced at the door behind him as Tom’s voice gets louder and more demanding.

“For everything.”

He then opened the door with an easy grin and casual aura as he strode out, Tom’s narrowed eyes shifting from Storm, to me.

I smiled innocently and followed the golden eyed boy down the hall.