Chapter 9 Aria
The storm hit without warning. Rain followed immediately after slamming against the glass in thick angry sheets. I sat up in bed automatically, heart jumping as another boom rolled through the sky with my knees pulled to my chest, grabbed my phone and started scrolling through messages. Sienna had invited me out over hours ago.
Me: Sorry, can’t come over again. Storm’s really heavy.
Sienna: It’s alright. Wouldn’t want you to catch a flu, even if your mom’s a nurse 😂.
Me: Lol 😂😂
I paused mid-text, distracted by a sound. I glanced at my door and shrugged, probably nothing. But the sound intensified and it was kinda hard to decipher due to the heavy storm but I listened hard. It was a knock coming from my front door. Mom wasn’t due back till morning and no one should be here.
I hurriedly completed my text and hit send to Sienna. The house was dark except for the soft glow from my bedside lamp. Another knock followed faster this time. I slipped out of bed and moved down the hallway when I reached the front door, I hesitated, my fingers trembling against the lock.
“Who is it?” My voice barely made it through the wood.
I heard a painful grunt and I unlocked the door. Rain rushed in first and Luca stood on my porch drenched to the bone. His hair was plastered to his face with water trailing down his jaw and throat. One hand was braced on the railing and his other hand pressed tight to his side, fingers stained dark.
Blood.
For one long second, we just stared at each other then he swayed and his knees buckled. I grabbed him before he hits the ground. His weight slammed into me nearly knocking me out. He exhaled hard against my shoulder with teeth clenched.
“Aria…” he breathed.
“Don’t talk,” I snapped, panic rushing in. “You’re bleeding.”
“You should not have opened the door,” he said, voice tight.
“And you should not be on my porch,” I shot back, panic already clawing up my throat.
I dragged him inside, struggling to keep us both upright, and shoved the door shut behind us with my foot. Blood starts to pools across the floor instantly. How am I gonna explain this to my Mom? Luca sagged against the wall, his breathing rough.bUnder the hallway light, the wound was impossible to miss. His jacket was torn open at the side and blood seeped through his shirt in thick dark patches with his skin being pale.
“OH MY GOSH!” I whisper-yelled.
His head tipped back against the wall. “Please don’t freak out.”
“That sentence is coming far too late.”
He almost smiled.
“What happened?” I whisper quietly.
He lifted his eyes to mine. For a second, something wild flickered there. Pain, yes but also something guarded.
“I fell,” he says.
I snort despite myself. “You fell into what, a knife?”
He does not answer.
“Living room,” I ordered, slipping my arm around his waist properly this time. Heat flooded into my palm the moment I touched him. His body was unnaturally warm despite the rain and cold. Once we reached the couch, he sunk down hard, jaw tightening as the movement pulled at the wound. I rushed to the kitchen for towels and the first-aid kit Mom keeps under the sink. My hands shook as I spread supplies across the coffee table. When I returned, he was watching me with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
“You should be scared right now,” he said quietly.
“I am,” I answered. “But you are bleeding so we are past fear and straight into emergency.”
I knelt in front of him and peeled the torn jacket and shirt away from his side. The wound was bad and deep. The skin around it was angry and swollen, blood still sliding free in steady pulses.
My chest clenched. “This needs a hospital.”
“No!” he said immediately.
“That was not a suggestion,” I argued.
His palm closed around my wrist, firm despite the pain. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me.
“No hospital,” he repeated. “Please.”
There is desperation in his eyes now. Real desperation and something else, fear. Against every rational instinct I had, I nodded.
“Fine,” I whispered. “But if you die, I am telling everyone you were stubborn.”
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. I started cleaning the wound. He barely flinched when the antiseptic touched the wound and the closer I got, the more aware I became of him. His warmth and the way his breathing faltered every time my fingers brushed too close to his skin.
“This needs a doctor,” I said again
“No hospitals.” His answer was immediate.
“Luca,” I warned.
He finally looks at me then with raw seriousness. “I can’t,”
Now, that was really suspicious but I let the matter drop. “Fine! But you’ll do exactly what I say.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I finished wrapping the bandage, carefully but quick. When I leaned back, he exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Thank you.”
“You scared me,” I admitted.
His expression shifted. “I didn’t want to show up like this.”
I studied his face and exhaustion was evident in his eyes. “Then why did you?”
His face softened. “Because I didn’t know where else to go.”
The honesty in that simple answer landed harder than anything. I grabbed one of my oversized hoodies from the laundry basket . He changed slowly, wincing, then sank back against the cushions his shoulders brushing mine when I sat beside him.
“You cannot go back out there like this,” I stated. “The rain will open it right back up.”
“I will heal, eventually.” he replied.
I blinked. “That is not how wounds work.”
A strange smile pulled at his mouth. “For most people.”
“Luca,” I whispered. “What are you not telling me?”
Thunder boomed again, close enough to make the windows shake. “Aria,” he started slowly, “if I tell you, you will never be able to pretend this town is normal again.”
“And if you do not tell me?”
“Then at least one of us can still pretend.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. “You can stay until the rain slows.”
His eyes darkened. “That is dangerous for both of us.”
“Too late,” I replied. “You are already here.”
We sat in silence again. His arm was so close that if I shifted even a little, I’d be leaning against him. Eventually, his eyelids began to droop. “You can sleep,”
His voice was already sleepy. “You staying?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You should go to bed,” he tells me.
I shook my head. “You're hurt.”
His lips parted like he might argue then his shoulders sagged slightly. “Just for a few hours.”
I fish out a blanket and when I drape it over his shoulders and his fingers brushed mine. The contact lingers a fraction of a second too long. I sat there longer than I meant to, watching the rise and fall of his chest, his long lashes resting against his cheek and his lips parted slightly to let out a snore. Bad boy, and yet, here he is, trusting me while wounded. When I finally stood to go to my room, I glanced back once more and for the first time since I met him, Luca looked peaceful.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
The storm brought Luca right to Aria’s door and bleeding, no less 😱 The tension in that quiet living-room moment was everything: her patching him up and their brief body contact. What do you think he’s hiding? And how long before Aria starts pushing for real answers?