I somehow made it back to my apartment in one piece and got cleaned up, with Kyle none the wiser.

The next morning, in an attempt to hide my injuries from his watchful eye, I wore a loose sweatshirt that used to be my dad’s, all vintage stripes and cream colored softness. Not sure why I bothered though.

“So,” Kyle began, taking a sip from his morning cup of coffee. “How’d the first day of that research project go?” He brought his gaze up to where I was standing at the counter, humming along softly to the Christmas music I had going in the background.

I continued stirring the dried cocoa powder into the steamy water. “Not too bad, actually. I learned quite a bit, even though it was just the first day,” I stated jovially. I had to keep all of this a secret from people, especially him. Obviously him.

“You sure? Based on your jerky movements, It’s more like you went to boot camp than worked on some project.”

I spun around way too fast, a sharp pull on my side making me wince. I clutched my stomach, realized what I’d done, and transformed it into a hand on the waist instead. “What? No way. You’ve got it all wrong.” I sucked in a sharp breath, I think I’d broken open the thin scab. I could feel my stomach dampening through the gauze. “I’m completely fine.” I said that last part through clenched teeth. I was doing a really bad job at this.

Kyle set down his coffee cup, the ceramic vessel clinking. “Yeah, I’m not buying that,” he said, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms. “You’re obviously in pain. Something happened.”

I let out a breathy laugh, which only made the pain worse. “What? Noooo.”

Kyle got out of the chair and started towards me. “Not convinced. Let’s see it.”

I panicked, waving one hand frantically in front of me. “No, no no nonononono. I already told you I’m fine. Everything is fine. I just did a really hard work out, so I’m sore. And I’m on my period, so extra pain, ya know.”

He stopped a foot or two from me, arms crossed again. “Sawyer. You are not fine. Now, like every other time you hurt yourself, let me help you.”

Every time? Was he sure about that?

I clutched my arms across my stomach, bumping back into the counter and curling into myself a little. There’s no way I could tell him the truth. He couldn’t find out. Not ever.

Phantom memories of pain, swinging fists, and threats against the people I cared about rose up. Wait. He thinks I did this to myself. I could work with that.

I glanced down to the floor with a guilty expression on my face. “I, well, I—”

“Spit it out.”

I looked him in the eye, words spilling out too easily. “I was doing the dishes yesterday, dropped a knife on the floor and then slipped on the soapy water that I’d spilled, you know how I always make a mess when I do the dishes. Everything is just a little bit wetter than they were to begin with, including myself, and that’s why I never use bleach in the water, ‘cause that would make everything so much worse than before, and I never really know how I do it, but it just sorta happens, and then I make a mess of things, but it turns out all—”

“Sawyer,” he said pointedly.

I looked back up at him, not even realizing I had avoided his gaze again.

He was barely holding himself together, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re rambling.”

I sucked in a breath with a wane smile. It was one of the things he just couldn’t stand. ‘Course, I never really notice when I do start rambling. It just sort of happens, and before I know it, someone is annoyed with me.

His eyes met mine again. “The short version. Please.”

I clutched my hands together in front of me. “I dropped the knife I was washing on the floor while I was doing dishes, slipped on all the soapy water, and then landed on said knife, destroying my favorite flannel jacket and one of my t-shirts.” Oh, good one, I thought to myself. That internal cheerleader gave me a pat on the back.

His slow blink, as if staving off an eye roll, was not lost on me. To top it off, he even let loose one of his famous sighs. “Okay.” He breathed in, then out as if to calm himself. “Show me the bandage.”

“What?! No. I don’t know many things, but I do know how to make a bandage, thank you very much.”

“Sawyer, did you even go to see a doctor? Stomach wounds can be very dangerous. Wait. Don’t answer,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I already know what you're going to say.”

“Hey!” I let out. “You know I don’t trust doctors.”

“Uh huh. Anyway, let me see it.”

He wasn’t going to let this go. He’s too stubborn for his own good. I let out a sigh, turned my head to the side, and lifted my shirt to reveal my left side.

There was no sound from him, and that worried me, so I looked back at him.

He was peering critically at my bandaged side. “Well, you actually did a pretty good job—”

“Thank you,” I interjected.

“—but it looks like you’ll need to redo it.”

“What!” I yelled, taking a look for myself. Oh yeah, it was definitely bleeding, the whole front part was one big red blob. “Dang it. I just did this like ten minutes ago.”

“Oh, so that’s what took you so long in the bathroom.”

“Heh heh, yeah.” I scratched the back of my head sheepishly.

“Well, let’s get this fixed up.”

“Fine,” I said, disappointed that he’d won. I just hoped he wouldn’t notice any of my other cuts and bruises. I didn’t need to make up another story today. One was enough.

I dropped my sweatshirt back into place. “Let’s just do this.”

.                                                     .

“How’d you get so good at bandaging wounds?” I asked while watching in awe at his practiced movements. His fingers flowing like a ballerina on stage as he prepared the new wrappings.

Kyle merely shrugged before smirking, and a twinge of annoyance pricked me. Oh here we go.

He said, “I’ve got a housemate with no self-preservation skills.”

“Hey!” I jabbed a finger into his shoulder, the sharp movement making me wince.

He didn’t answer right away and let a few seconds pass before speaking. “My… father was what you’d call a professional.”

“Ah!” I said perkily. “So like a doctor.”

His hands paused on the bandage. “No, not a doctor.”

I frowned in concentration. “A paramedic?”

“No.” He set the new gauze aside and came over to me.

“A school nurse!” I declared. Surely, that was it.

“No.” He pulled at the tape securing my old bandage.

“Hmm.” I tapped a finger against my chin, legs swinging back and forth where I was sitting on the counter.

“Just forget about it,” Kyle stated flatly.

“But it’s all I can think about now,” I complained. The tape pulled at my skin.

“Just think of that fresh hot cocoa waiting for you instead.”

“Oh yeah! I still gotta put marshmallows in it. Hey, you should try some in your coffee!”

“I’m not putting marshmallows in my coffee.”

“Oh come on. You don’t even know if you’d like it or not.”

“I don’t need to try it to know I don’t like it.” He pulled the rest of the bandage off with a final tug, and I winced.

I made to cross my arms to settle for an argument, but Kyle’s suddenly tense shoulders gave me pause.

“What is it?” I asked, worried I’d done more damage than I thought. “Is it that bad?”

He blinked and seemed to shake a thought free. “No,” he said quickly, picking up the alcohol-soaked cotton ball to begin cleaning the wound. “No, it’s just…”

“Just what?” I asked no longer worried but not really comfortable with his hesitation. I wrinkled my nose at the cold sting of the alcohol.

“The cuts are in an interesting pattern is all,” he finally said.

“Yeah, I—” Then it hit me. Shit. Of course it was weird. Nothing like having the symbol of one of the most notorious criminal groups carved into your stomach. “Is it that weird? I didn’t really get that great a look at it.”

Dodge. Evade. Anything.

“Well, it kinda looks like…” he paused, grabbing the new gauze to cover the now clean cuts.

“Like what?” I grimaced internally. Don’t say Red Pathways. Don’t say Red Pathways. Don’t say Red Pathways.

“Like a weird lowercase ‘N’,” he answered.

I deflated. Oh thank goodness.

“How’d the knife cut you at three different angles?” He started taping the bandage on.

I squirmed at the tape puckering my skin. Hmm, how did it?

“Bad luck, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “Weirder things have happened.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed as he finished. “Yeah, I guess they have.”

“So are we done?” I practically shouted.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah we’re done.”

“Sweet. Race ya to the kitchen!” I hopped off the counter. Ignoring the flash of pain.

“You can’t just—”

“I’m putting marshmallows in your coffee!” I yelled back to him as I dashed, more like hobbled, into the hallway, knowing I was going to regret this in a few minutes. But I couldn’t have him dwelling on my wound and the symbol it resembled.

And it just so happens that diversions were my specialty.