“Stay here,” he says, his voice rough. That is the first thing he has said to me since the car stopped. I only nod because where the hell am I going to go? I’m not sure I know how to find my way back downstairs, let alone actually leave the house.

He sits me on the bed and goes into the bathroom, and I watch him as he takes off his shirt, which is wet with blood. I hear him turn on the tap, the gush of water rinsing his hands before he wets a cloth. I get up then and stand at the doorway, noticing him dabbing his arm.

I begin to step into the bathroom, and he stops what he is doing, the wet cloth midway between the basin and his bare chest as I enter his space. Am I crazy? Probably. But I nursed my mother for many months and have an empathetic nature, so the need to help people runs strongly through my veins.

He doesn’t say anything, his ongoing silence making me nervous. I stand next to him and grab the cool cloth out of his hands, reaching up to wipe his arm. He remains still, his eyes not leaving my face, his jaw set. I try to be gentle as I clean all the dried blood off his skin, needing to rinse the cloth before starting again.

As I wipe his chest, I can feel his heart beating hard, matching mine, and I see a sheen of water now covering his tattoos where I have cleaned the red away. We remain silent as I take in his body, muscles, scars, and tattoos. He is like nothing I have ever seen before, so I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

Taking a fresh cloth, I grab the antiseptic that he already had on the vanity and begin to dab some onto the wound. I know the antiseptic stings, so I blow on his skin a little, something that the school nurse always did to me every time I went to her with a graze or cut. From my peripheral, I can see his face, and I note every subtle change. His nostrils flare, but his expression doesn’t wavier, his eyes still remaining fixed on me. His jaw clenches slightly each time I touch him, so I know that he is human at least.

When I shift on my tiptoes, his eyes drop to my body, and as I follow his gaze, I gasp. I forgot that my chest is covered in blood. Whose, I am not sure, most likely his. I panic a little at the sight, trying to tell myself that it isn’t mine and I don’t need to worry, but my nerves are on a knife’s edge today and any little thing is now triggering me.