Page 33 of Outcast’s Return

I seriously need to get my brain checked.

Fabien’s breathing continues to get even more shallow until he’s taking staggered breaths. It keeps going. Minute by minute.

Yeah. The fight. His little boxing match at that stupid Castaways fight club.

“That’s enough,” I finally say out loud, piercing the darkness and the silence. “I’m going to help you. I can’t deal with this.”

I pull away the bedsheet and leap out of the bed.

“What?” Fabien asks, voice weak.

“I am not going to spend all night awake being forced to listen to you struggle,” I announce. “Honestly, neither of us is going to sleep if you carry on like this. You might think it’s fun to roleplay as some brave little soldier returned from war, wounded in battle, but I’ve got work in the morning, and I am not having you ruin that with your bullheaded stubbornness.”

And, with that, I turn the bedroom light on. Fabien immediately raises a hand to his face, bleary-eyed and groaning.

“What the fuck are you doing, woman?”

“I’m doing what you should’ve done earlier,” I reply. “I’m dealing with your problems.”

I head into the ensuite, returning with a cold towel I’ve run under the tap. It drips on the floor.

“Jolie...”

“Show me your knuckles,” I say, kneeling down beside him and lifting the towel like it’s a weapon.

“No.”

“Show me, Fabien.”

“I’m not having you touch me.”

Such a boy.

“This is not for my benefit. Let’s clean you up. Properly. Trust me.”

Fabien drops his hand and sighs.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“This.”

I dab at the bruises on his hand with the cold towel. Fabien flinches at first, but then he slowly and silently allows me to fix him up.

As he sits up in bed, I reach out and gently cup his chin, bringing his face up to mine. His eyes sparkle in the light. He’s not so dark and brooding now. More vulnerable. Our faces are inches away now.

But I have a job to do. I wipe away the dried blood on his cheeks and under his eyes. Cleaning him the way he should’ve cleaned himself up in the shower.

I feel the heat of his breath. I feel his eyes track mine.

Fabien doesn’t have a clue how much this action is costing me. How I despise how much I want to take care of him.

“Your skin is very warm,” I remark, focusing back on his bruised knuckles.

Fabien growls but no longer pulls back.

“This looks very painful,” I say. “It must’ve been a rough fight.”

“You should see the other guy.”