Chapter Twenty-One

When we reach my house, there are no lights on and no cars parked out front. 

“They’re not here,” I say.

As soon as we near the door, the sky opens up. Raindrops bounce off the windshield.

I groan.

“What—you don’t like rain?” Ben asks. His lips curve at one corner.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I’m kind of disabled right now and don’t feel like taking another shower today,” I reply.

Ben snorts. “Right. Like I’d let you drag yourself to the front door.”

I don’t need to play the damsel in distress. As a matter of fact, I despise girls who do. But this is one of those rare occasions I can’t refuse. He jumps out of the car and comes around the side, opening my door. One of his arms slides under my legs, and the other around my back. He carries me to the front door.

“Candra,” he says, nodding toward the entrance. “Key.”

“Oh, right!” I rummage through my purse and pull them out, jangling. Ben lowers me, so I can slide the house key in the lock. He helps push the door open.

He stops and stares at me. “Where’s your bedroom?”

My cheeks flush, and I momentarily lose my train of thought.

“Not for that,” he says, watching my reaction.

I point. “Um, up there.”

He gracefully carries me up the stairs and, when we get to the top, I direct him toward my room. The only boy I’ve ever had in a room of mine is Sean—my friend in Charleston—but he doesn’t count. He’s more of a brother to me.

Ben lays me down on the bed.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he says.

I sit up. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t think Randy and Beth would be too happy to see my car out front when they get home. I need to go park it down the street. Then I’ll be back to take care of your leg.”

I give him a nod. He darts out the door.

Waiting for him hurts, but I’m pretty sure my leg hurts more. I hope the throbbing goes away. Another hour and I might bleed to death. Okay, not really, but it feels like it. The wise thing to do: take me to a hospital. I just hope Ben has a good plan.

It doesn’t take long for me to crash into a sleep-induced coma.

I’m falling. My hair stands vertical against gravity. But as I near the ground, I’m frozen in mid-air. He stands beside me, appearing out of nowhere. His body is no more than a black mist, transparent.

He runs a ghost-like hand from my toes to my head, surveying my entire body. His touch is what I’ve always thought clouds to feel like—cold and airy. Even though I can’t see his eyes, I know he’s staring at me. I still can’t see his face. Cautiously, his hand moves toward my neck, grabs hold and squeezes. I’m suffocating.

But my limbs won’t budge. Some greater power holds me in place. If there was a way to fight back, I would.

Tighter he squeezes. Tighter and harder. My face feels like it’s falling asleep, going numb. Green and white dots freckle my eyesight.

He begins shaking me. The last moments of my life swirl and reel in a vortex of bright colors and familiar faces.

“Candra! Wake up!”

I suck in a deep breath, my hands immediately clutching my throat. Ben stands beside my bed, watching me suspiciously. I pull myself into a sitting position.

“Bad dream,” I mumble, coughing up the words.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Sounded like it.”

I struggle to move my leg. “Ouch.” I wince, pulling a sharp breath in through my teeth. 

“Do you have anything we can use to treat this?” he asks, staring at my makeshift bandage. Blood has soaked its way through his old t-shirt. I don’t want it on my comforter. Beth will really freak out then.

“I think there’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom,” I say. “Maybe some sort of bandages and cream.”

Ben doesn’t hesitate. He storms toward the hallway, and I hear the medicine cabinet above the sink screech open. When he comes back, he has ointment, gauze and scissors.

“This should work,” he tells me, taking a seat at the end of my bed. He sets my leg across his lap and unwraps the improvised dressing.

My leg looks like Swiss cheese, with large, gaping holes from the bites. I look away. Don’t pass out, I convince myself.

“Damn,” states Ben. “This is worse than I thought.” Lightly, his fingers graze my skin.

I tremble.

“I’ll get you fixed in no time,” he says.

Unwinding the gauze, he snips a portion off, drizzling water from a paper cup and blotting my skin. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but Ben takes extra care in making sure there’s no excess. He squeezes the ointment onto my leg, gently rubbing circles.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.” Okay, that’s a complete lie. I want to bawl my eyes out until they’re dry, and, really, I’m only trying to be brave. Being brave sucks.

After he applies the medicated gel, he wraps my leg.

He tosses me one of his smiles. “See, all better.”

“Thanks.” I feel sheepish for letting him stay and take care of me. I’ll be throwing a pity party later, with guilt as the appetizer and misery for the main course. How can I repay him? I’m the one who started this, yet he’s the one taking care of me.

“You going to be all right?” he asks, carefully lifting my leg off his lap and setting it on the bed, as he stands up.

I bite my lip and respond, “I’ll be fine.”

He walks to my window, flips the latch and raises it.

“Wait,” I blurt. “Don’t go.”

His face sinks. “Candra, I can’t stay here.”

“I keep my door closed most of the time, anyway. They’ll never know you’re here. Please? Just for tonight?” My heart plays a melody, frantically humming against my chest.

He faces the window again—gaze lowering to the sill. “Do you know how much is at stake right now?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“I know.”

He forces a sigh. “This one time. That’s it.”

I scoot over on the bed. Ben pulls the comforter down, and then pulls it back up over us. He faces away from me. I stare at his shoulders and back for a long time, even assessing the tiny hairs at the base of his neck.

“Night,” I finally say.

But he doesn’t respond.