CAMERON

The room is a mess with my belongings strewn about; I can't fathom how it reached such a state.

My left leg aches each time I step on it, feeling as if it's dislocated, yet when Lauren examined it earlier she assured me I'm fine. She has recommended I sleep at their place tonight though, so she could run some checkups and give me some treatment, but I opted only for a pain reliever. They say there's no better place than home, right?

I am confident that a hot shower, the pills, and a good night's sleep are all that I need to start tomorrow in good spirits, so I take a longer shower than my usual brisk routine.

The water, pure and cascading over my head, mingles with blood around my skin, stains to red by the time it reaches my toe.

Today's fight proved to be the most challenging since my early days. Kenny was formidable, but tonight I demonstrated my superiority. Despite his significant blows, I persevered, fighting with all the emotions that have burdened me lately. He may be big, but I brought him down; he couldn't even stand.

Exiting the shower, I dry off with a towel, don briefs, and continue drying my hair as I return to my room. Princess is there, her face pale, visibly horrified. She turns away as if repelled.

Okay, now that's funny.

Amused, I ask, "What's wrong with you?"

"Put on something," she suggests, terrified.

I chuckle, "I have something on. I'm wearing boxers," walking over to her to show her. "I am not naked." I blow in her ear, and she jerks away, flinching, avoiding eye contact.

She was holding a towel and a bowl of water. I guess she's here to help. That's really thoughtful of her.

"I know you care about me," I joke, and she doesn't argue like she usually will. But her concern for my presence is discernible when she's the one who came here for me. I don't understand her math.

"Cameron, please. Just put on something."

"How can you reach the needed places if they are covered up? I have collected blows in my stomach and thighs," I remark, half-joking. "Besides, I am not naked; just turn over and see for yourself." She hesitates, and I coax, "Come on, Princess. Slap me if I am lying."

I catch her body shaking slightly; she must have laughed. After a moment, she turns over. "Jerk!" she cusses when her eyes lower down my body, her hand attempting to slap me. I don't stop her, a deal is a deal. However, she hesitates, realizing there's hardly any space left to hit. "You're messed up," she remarks, and I nod.

Frowning, she gestures at the towel I'm using for my hair. "Wrap it around," she grumbles, avoiding my gaze. I comply, sparing her the mortification.

But even after doing what she asked, she still nods her brows persistently.
"What?" I ask, confused.

"Shirt," she spells out, eyes fixed on mine.

"Come on, but my ribs hurt; they're the most that need attention-" I start, but her resolute stare makes me backtrack. I find a black shirt on the floor and carefully slip into it. "Okay?" I ask, outstretching my arms and spinning around so she could see I'm decently covered.

She nods satisfyingly but blushes even more deeply, and nervously motions the bed for me to sit. With her healthy red hair covering her face, she takes the space next to me. For the first time, I find myself wanting to run my fingers through hair that isn't mine, to feel its texture slipping between my fingers, to swirl it and play with it as Jake does with hers sometimes.

She tucks it back herself before I can gain the courage, and her throat shifts slightly as she adjusts to face me. I'm seated on the bed with my legs folded in front of me, and she begins squeezing out the water from the towel in a bowl between us.

It's too quiet. Her pulse races and her breath is shaky and labored. She appears nervous. I studied her in that short moment.

"Did you try my cocktail?" I begin a conversation, hoping she'll relax a little.

"No, Mom had two cups," she replies, head bowed, focused on the towel that's no longer bringing out water.

She is stalling, timid, and anxious about how to start the process. The sun will rise if I don't interfere. I grab her small wrist, and she slightly trembles but then realizes I am only offering to lead her on the map, so she loosens up a bit, but I still hear her ragged breath as I bring her hand to my busted lips.

"So you didn't have a sip? I put so much effort into it."

"I wasn't thirsty," she dryly replies, cautious about the towel touching my skin.

"Okay, come. Let's go make another," I suggest, grabbing her free hand. She pulls back, eyes wide. "What? Do you hate me so much that we can't friendly hold hands?"

"Cameron..." she sternly warns, pressing the towel to my injured brow.

"Ouch!" I pull back at the sharp pain, and she arches her brow. "Stay steady!" she instructs, like an unfeeling soldier.

I chuckle at the thought. "Okay, baddie," I tease, and she retaliates with a jab to my stomach. Though it was with all her might, it was like a feather compared to Kenny's earlier punches. However, she enjoys hitting me, so for payback, I dramatically writhe and whine, as if she harmed my internal organs.

Her face shows terror as she becomes frightened that she may have hurt me. "Are you okay?" she asks, putting aside the bowl and hovering over me with worried eyes.

I shake my head, groaning, "No!"

"What did I do? Did I-" Her breathing is labored from stress, and I hate it, but it's fun too. Maybe I just want her to be gentle with me, especially now, rather than shooting me daggers all the time.

"I think you hit where it could probably be broken or something," I lie, feigning gasping.

"What? You have broken ribs?" she asks, terrified.

"That's what I have been trying to tell you when you said to put on my shirt and towel. My thigh and stomach had the worst beating," I tell her, honestly this time.

"Let me see," she asks, sitting next to me without anything but care for the first time. I feel her warmth radiating into my pores as she pulls up my shirt over my head, her shampoo scent filling my nostrils.

Her eyes narrow as they roam my torso. It's funny how she's ready to see it now.

"I do not think it's broken, but it will swell. Do you have a first aid kit?" she asks, concentrating.

"Yes, downstairs, guest restroom."

"Okay," she looks up at me finally. "Do not get down," she advises maternal and gets up, leaving.

Smiling at her concern, I lay back, my hand making a pillow over the actual pillow, waiting for her as she had ordered. She returns after some minutes, chewing her inner cheeks as she walks over.

Her nervous eyes begin looking around the room while she towers over me.

"What are you looking for?"

"Can I get that spinning chair?" she motions toward the table.

Hmm!

"I could scooch over for you. There's enough room, Princess. You can just sit on the bed."

She seems to be considering it. "You were literally just here minutes ago, and not even the slice bread changed," I point out, patting the space next to me, and she exhales with a huff, coming to terms with her mind.

The side of the mattress compresses. I watch as she anxiously settles beside me and blows out a breath again.

"I found this anti-inflammatory ointment; it will help," she nervously shows me. Her hair loosens and freely bounces by her sides; she has to hook them back and struggles with the cap of the ointment.

It was unkind of me not to offer help, but I am intrigued by how vexed she is with the thing. She is panting slightly. When she is able to open it, she actually smiles, gasping out a small, energetic "yes." like she just won the lottery.

Really funny.