Page 44 of His Untoward Hate

Jude reluctantly obeyed. Slowly, he reached for the medicine on the table. It almost fell when it was in his touch. His hands trembled as he peeled open the foil packaging of the medicine.

Sky was watching him the entire time.

After Jude had hardly swallowed the two pills, Sky went back down beside him. He picked up the remaining pack of Advil, grabbed Jude’s shoulder bag without permission, and slipped it inside.

“Take those whenever the pain gets too much,” he counselled, as if he was a registered pharmacist.

Jude was puzzled. He looked at him as he returned to arranging the medical supplies. Then, without another word or even meeting Jude’s eyes, Sky suddenly reached out and held his left hand.

The contact of Sky’s skin immediately sent shivers running through his spine. It was as if he were being electrified. He was debating whether to retract his hand or not, but knowing Sky, he would put more wounds on his face if he resisted. Jude yielded submissively.

Jude lowered his gaze to his open, trembling palm, where a few shallow scratches marred his skin. Sky’s hands, way bigger than his, engulfed his small one.

Sky soaked a cotton ball with antiseptic and began cleaning the wound. He remained silent throughout, even repeating the same steps more than necessary. Jude noticed the process beneath his watch. Sky first cleaned the cuts with alcohol, then applied povidone-iodine before finishing with a layer of antimicrobial cream, even though the iodine alone would have been sufficient.

Used to the sting of isopropyl alcohol, Jude did not even flinch. At times, it almost felt like he was accustomed to pain that he sometimes yearned for it.

Sky then gently pressed the cotton over the cut and the surrounding skin, carefully cleaning it before dressing it with a sterile bandage. He continued by tending to the wounds on his arms and a few on his shoulders as well.

“Strip your shirt,” he commanded, and Jude instantly panicked.

He was slightly taken aback by the realization of how close they were.

Sky’s eyes pierced through his soul.

“No, I don’t have wounds inside,” he lied, even though he could feel that there were new ones there.

“Don’t fucking lie in front of me.” Sky scolded him and looked at him very intensely; his face hardened.

“I don’t want to,” Jude refused.

“Faster the fuck up, before whatever little patience I have runs out, Jude Finn,” he dictated coldly, which left Jude no choice.

Jude lowered his gaze, looking like a child being reprimanded.

“Where’s the bath—”

“The fuck! Strip the fuck already!” Sky growled.

A jolt of surprise ran through Jude, and he instinctively rose to his feet at once. He swallowed nervously as he stared at Sky, fear flickering across his face. The moment their eyes met, his expression shifted completely. Despite every part of him wanting to refuse, he realized he had no choice but to remove his shirt in front of him.

A strained grunt escaped his lips as he carefully pulled the fabric over his head, the movement irritating the fresh cuts and swelling on his body. The moment his bare upper body was exposed, he noticed Sky go still. The shock in his eyes was impossible to miss. Sky was the only person who had ever seen his naked upper body like this. A body that was covered in wounds, bruises, and scars.

“It wouldn’t look like this from just what happened earlier. What the hell happened to your fucking body?” he asked seriously, his gaze keen as it moved over Jude’s frame.

It felt as though Jude was being judged for something he had done wrong.

Jude sat down, and as much as he wanted to scoff at his remark, he refrained from doing so.

“Nothing,” he answered.

“Why are there so many old ones?” asked Sky.

“It’s nothing.”

“You tell me right now, or you’ll die?” he warned.

This time, Sky was being dead serious, and Jude wanted to laugh in his very face.