A familiar golden-blonde head bobs in the crows.
“Ollie!”
The head shoots up, eyes meeting mine.
“Oh hey Ry. Where were you?”
“Uh...”
He runs to catch up to me.
Shit, what do I say?
“Nurse.”
“Does it have anything to do with what happened to your head?”
I quickly cover my forehead with a strand of stringy wet hair, I must’ve tucked it behind my ear out of habit.
“Yeah...tripped.”
He smacks the crosswalk button with his elbow and we wait.
“Sure you did.”
My face goes red and I cradle my wrist. Which was a mistake, and the shooting pain only adds to the nausea.
“So...what did he have you guys do?”
The crowd around us starts moving and we make our way across the street.
“Dodgeball.” A sardonic smile graces his face.
“Damn. Sorry dude.”
“Yeah. But it was okay, I hid behind Gavin the whole time.”
I smirk.
“Dunno what the girls were doing, though.”
The sky looks ominous.
“Shit, we should hurry.”
“Oh come on, it’s just rain.”
I make a face at him.
“Yes, but it’s...wet.”
He frowns.
“No, it makes things wet.”
“Yeah-me.”
“Speaking of which-wait a minute, what the fuck is that?”
My heart throbs in my ears.
“What?”
“On your neck.”
“Wha-oh.”
I glance down. The wide neckline of Archie’s sweater had slipped down, revealing the mottled skin.
“I fell, remember?”
Ollie stops and turns into an alley, then roughly tugs the fabric over my shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He eyes my skin solemnly as I quickly pull the soft material back over it and turn back to the road.
“Ryan.”
A soft hand on my good elbow stops me.
“What?” I snap.
“Ryan, look at me.”
I face him, knowing I’d just lost.
He looks sad. Like, really sad.
Shit...I did that
“Who was it?”
“Ollie...”
“Who did this? Was it that Tessa bitch?”
I can’t meet his eyes, and his voice grows more urgent and forceful.
“Tell me.” He hisses through his teeth.
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter. My voice cracks in spite of myself, as if it, too, wants to jeopardize everything.
“No, you’re obviously not!”
“Ollie stop. I really, really don’t want to talk about it. What’s done is done.”
He sighs and walks back to the sidewalk, and I follow him lamely.
“Where else?” He asks, sternly.
“I-my shins, and ribs...my hand, and my wrist...she kinda stepped on it...” I mutter.
Why the fuck are you telling him?
His eyes widen comically.
“She did what?”
I chuckle nervously.
“So how was History?”
He glares daggers at me.
“Let me see.”
“I‘ll be fine, it’ll heal-“
“Let me see it.”
I roll my eyes and carefully lift up my blotchy purple left hand for him to see. The skin is torn and pinkish, and he grimaces at the sight of it.
It’s really not that bad.
Right?
“Can you move it?”
“Obviously.”
“Then move it.”
“I am,” I wince.
He sighs and pulls out his phone.
“No, you’re not.”
“What are y-oh.”
I look down to see that my hand wasn’t, in fact, moving. Like, at all.
“Huh. That’s weird.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s probably just cold and numb.”
He softly pushes on the tip of my finger, and a blinding pain shoots through my arm. I bite back a cry.
“Does that hurt?”
I bite my lip hard, and he presses harder.
“No, it’s practically orgasmic,” I say, and goddammit Ryan of all the times to be sarcastic.
“Right, that’s why you’re chewing through your lip. Got it.”
“You know, you’re really annoying when you’re worried about me.”
He types something on his phone, and the whoosh texting sound-effect can be heard before he checks a map and shoves it in his pocket.
The sky rumbles.
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