This is a first draft Rowkley moment, it's cringy as hell, no, I will not give you context, this is the first draft, so it's mainly a brain dump butttttt

------

She winces, “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” I lean back into her touch and kick myself for moving in the first place. She gently pats, and cold water droplets spill down my face, dripping down my neck and onto my chest. The freezing liquid is better than the hot red one that seems to leave me far too often. The throbbing in my face decreases, or maybe I forget about it.

I look into her eyes, determined but loving. I would be content staring into this exact pair of eyes forever. But even forever doesn’t feel long enough.

She takes a few trips to and from the sink, rinsing the thick blood from the shirt.

“It’s not stopping, but it’s slowing down.” She continues to tap, like she is too afraid of hurting me.

I put my hand over hers and pressed the shirt against the cut. It stings, but I keep it there.

“What are you doing? Doesn’t that hurt?” Her expression pinches into one of concern, and my heart warms. She tries to pull her hand away, but it's trapped under mine.

“It does. But it helps the bleeding stop. Remember that. Pressure, you never know when you are going to need it.” I wince but try to cover it before she gets too worried about things she doesn’t need to be.

I just stare at her, and she stares at the blood still staining my skin. She wasn't looking into my eyes, but it was close enough.

A traitorous thought slips into my head, and I try to push it away, but it's stubborn, unwilling to leave.

I would get into fights every day if it meant you would be there for me after each one.

I hate lies, but I might hate this truth just as much simply because it was true. Completely and entirely. If it meant she would be there after each altercation, I would throw myself against every blade within reach. If she were here to hold me after, to treat me like I was fragile—breakable— instead of already broken, I would break myself every goddamn day.