I was afraid if I commented on it, he’d never trust me enough to be vulnerable again, so all I said was, “Here,” and handed him the ice pack. “Keep that on for ten minutes, off for twenty, and repeat.”
“Thanks, Anna.”
“Don’t thank me,” I sighed. “For all I know, you fractured it and ought to get it set. No way to tell that without an x-ray.”
He smiled grimly. “Too bad you’re not Supergirl. Then you could just use your x-ray vision.”
I put my hand on my hip and grinned. “Well, who says I’m not Supergirl? Maybe mild-mannered college student is my secret identity.”
His smile deepened. “I wouldn’t doubt that for a second,” he said. Patting the blankets I brought down with his good hand, he asked, “And what are these for?”
“Well,” I said, “traditionally, blankets are used to keep oneself warm when it is cold.”
He managed a chuckle. “Are you thinking of carrying them around with you for emergencies too?”
“No,” I said, abandoning the joke. “I brought them down because it’s chilly in here, and I intend to keep you here at least an hour to make sure you actually ice that. Plus I am going to want my ice pack returned eventually.”
His smile faded. “Anna—”
“No more arguments, Kowalski. Doctor’s orders.”
“I was just going to remind you that ten minutes ago, you were about to kick me out.”
“Psh. I wasn’t kicking you out—you were leaving. But you’re not, now. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. You shouldn’t be by yourself. With a sprained wrist.”
He gave me a sharp look. “Don’t do this out of pity, Anna.”
“It’s not pity,” I told him. “Honestly. I don’t really want to be by myself tonight, either.”
“If I’m your top choice for company, then maybe I should be pitying you,” he said.
“You’re pretty much my only choice,” I told him. “And I think you’re underselling yourself.”
He scoffed. “My own family doesn’t want me around,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. “So why would you?”
It was a fair question; I just didn’t have a ready answer. “I don’t know, Davin, I just….” I shrugged. “I like hanging out with you, I guess.”
“But?”
“But nothing. I do worry about you, though.” I motioned to his bandaged hand.
Davin sighed. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to fix me.”
“I don’t,” I protested. “The band-aids and stuff…that’s nothing. I could do that in my sleep. I know your real issues are a lot deeper, and I couldn’t fix those even if I wanted to.”
“I don’t expect you to; no one can. That’s the thing. All the stuff I’ve been dealing with…it’s left me kind of…broken. I don’t even know if I know how to be a friend anymore.”
“I don’t believe that. And everyone’s got battle scars, Davin. Myself included.”
“Yeah, well, my scars haven’t healed yet, and I don’t want to inflict them on anyone else. That’s part of why I keep to myself most of the time. I didn’t come here for bandages, therapy, or to make you to feel sorry for me.”
“Why did you come over?” I asked, figuring I had a right to know as well.
He shook his head, the tiniest of smiles hovering around the corners of his lips. “I guess I like hanging out with you, too.”
“Well I guess that settles it,” I replied, smiling and handing him a blanket. “Now let’s see if we can’t find some sappy Christmas special on TV so we can really feel sorry for ourselves.”
He took his blanket and wrapped it around himself, balancing the ice on his injured hand and shooting me a grateful look. I knew that look; I’d lived it.
I bundled in my own blanket and reflected on the strange and somewhat unexpected friendship that was slowly developing between Davin and myself. It was clear to me that he needed a friend, but for reasons unknown to me, thought that it was better for him to be alone. I could also tell that this was something he deeply believed; it wasn’t a persona he was projecting to get attention.
Somewhere during the next couple hours I came to an agreement with myself. Despite knowing he would most likely continue his mysterious behavior and would at best only be able to maintain an erratic friendship, I decided to take another plunge. I didn’t have any delusions about changing or fixing him, though, honestly; my only thought was to be there for him just as I would have wanted someone to be there for me if I were in his shoes. The way I had often wished someone had been there for me in high school when I was the weird loner, and the way I still sometimes felt, lost in the shuffle of college.
I knew it was strange, and I hoped I wasn’t over-romanticizing the situation, but sitting there on the couch with him, it just felt as though we were somehow connected. We didn’t have to talk, and it wasn’t awkward. We were just two lonely, out-of-place people sharing a holiday with junk food from the vending machine and a Claymation classic on the television.
Even with the blankets insulating us, I was hyperaware of how close we sat on the loveseat; at first I sat curled in a ball, hugging my knees to my chest. As the evening went on, however, I relaxed. We sat there, so close but not touching, and I found myself wishing he’d take my hand. He never did—though for a little while he let his arm rest on the back of the sofa behind me, ice pack and all. As one classic movie gave way to another, Davin’s eyes began to droop. His head lolled and jerked back up as he’d reawaken but curiously he made no move to leave.
Eventually he stopped fighting sleep; his breath came in slow, heavy breaths and his body relaxed. As he sank deeper into sleep, his head continued to sag to the side until suddenly it was resting on my shoulder.
Even then I didn’t wake him; I just let him be. I calmly finished my bag of skittles, making careful movements so as not to wake him. I removed his lukewarm ice pack, flipped through a few more channels, and tried not to think about how much I wanted to rest my head against his.
His head was heavier than I thought it would be, and it seemed to be cutting off the circulation in my shoulder. But I ignored the tingling sensation, the same way I tried to ignore his musky, masculine scent. Just as I was feeling my own eyes and head slouch, Davin gave a startled twitch and woke up.
He drew a deep breath and stretched, looking dazed. “What time is it?” he asked, glancing around. I pointed to the clock and told him it was after midnight. “Mmph. I should probably go to bed.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
He folded up my blanket and handed it to me, and I walked him to the door. He didn’t say much, just gave me an awkward hug and mumbled, “Merry Christmas.”
Later, after I was in bed and just dozing off, I was startled by my phone ringing. I answered immediately, worried something was wrong with someone I cared about. “Hello?”
“Hey. I just wanted to say thank you.” Davin’s warm, deep voice was on the other end.
My erratic heartbeat slowed to a less frantic pulse. “Oh. Um, you’re welcome.”
“Sorry, I know it’s late. I was too sleepy when I left to say it properly, but now I’m awake and I just wanted to say it before I forgot.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I assured him. “It’s fine. I already told you, anytime you need to talk, you can call on me.”
“Well. Thank you,” he repeated.
“You don’t have to thank me, either,” I said.
“Yes, I do. Not just for fixing up my hand—which by the way, is no longer throbbing or stabbing me with pain every time I move. I’m starting to think you really should look into med school.”
“Haha,” I said. “Well, I’m glad it’s feeling better.”
“It really is. But that’s not the only thing you did for me tonight,” he went on. “I’m not good at asking for help, and I really didn’t want to be alone and you…well, you rescued me.”
On the other end of the line, I squirmed silently. “D
avin…”
“I know,” he said quickly, as if sensing my discomfort. “To you it was probably no big deal, but…it meant a lot to me, and I just wanted you to know that.”
I thought of his dark, grateful eyes and the way his head had leaned against me. “It…it meant a lot to me, too,” I said finally.
“I guess it’s a good thing we found each other, then,” he replied.
It both pleased and unnerved me how his words echoed my earlier thought. “Yeah, I guess so,” I agreed. “A really, really good thing.”
Chapter Seven
“You’re supposed to trust friends.
You have no reason to be his friend?
That is part of the pleasure of friendship:
trusting without absolute evidence
and then being rewarded for that trust.”
—David Shore
I awoke to my phone ringing the next morning. It was my family, calling to wish me a Merry Christmas. It was so good to hear their voices, to know that I was missed and not forgotten on this special day. I talked with them for nearly two hours, catching them up on the events of the past few weeks. They were pleased that the package they’d sent me for Christmas had arrived just in time. I told them I loved every little thing they’d sent me. I felt my own age again, talking to my parents; young, alone, and unsure of myself. Being in college and on my own had begun to make me feel so old and practically grown up—as far as that was from the truth.
Then my mom asked whatever happened with that guy who disappeared at Wal-Mart. I sighed audibly into the phone. “I don’t know. It’s a long story, Mom,” I told her. “Basically, the guy is kind of a mess. He’s really nice and all, but he’s…troubled.”
“Troubled? Troubled how?” She sounded concerned.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I repeated. The phrase was beginning to feel like a mantra, because I could never seem to find the right words to explain my feelings and thoughts. Especially when it came to Davin. “I don’t mean he is trouble. I think he’s just been through a lot. Although, I do think he’s hiding something.”
“Like what?”
I shrugged unnecessarily. “Depression, maybe? A drug addiction? I’m not sure.”
I could hear the frown in her voice. “Well, you be careful then, Anna. I know how you care about people, but I don’t want you getting in trouble. Remember what happened with Emily. Don’t go getting yourself mixed up with someone you can’t save.”
I was irritated by her tone and the insinuation that I couldn’t take care of myself. “He’s nothing like Emily. And I don’t want to save him, Mom. I just want to be a friend.”
There was a pause. “Are you sure that’s all you want?”
I bit my lip but evaded the question; why is it that mothers have the ability to read their kids so well, especially when we’re trying our hardest to hide the truth from ourselves?
Davin called about twenty minutes after I hung up with my family. I hadn’t moved from my bed, but had stayed motionless in my pajamas, feeling alone and confused. He was the last thing I wanted to deal with, especially since perplexing emotions were beginning to cloud the subject. But his voice didn’t sound sad; instead he seemed excited. “Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed. “Can you come down?”
“Down where?”
“To your lounge. I have something for you.” My jaw dropped slightly. “You-you’re downstairs? Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Um…well, you’ll have to wait a few minutes, because I’m not ready.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding unsure.
“I’m in my pajamas,” I explained, embarrassed for who knew what reason. Perhaps ingrained modesty; nice MK girls did not let boys see them in their pajamas. Or even talk about pajamas to boys.
“Oh,” he chuckled slightly. “Well, I’m in no hurry. I’ll wait.”
I hung up and leapt out of bed. I threw on a pair of jeans but changed shirts three times. I gathered my long, dark, curly hair into a messy ponytail and dabbed a bit of makeup on. I didn’t want to take too long, but I did want to be presentable. I squirted some fresh-smelling body spray on just before I grabbed my keys and walked out.
“Nice slippers,” Davin grinned. They were green and furry.
“Thanks.” I shrugged and looked him over, half expecting to see a new injury. “So what’s up?” He had one hand behind his back.
“Merry Christmas,” he repeated, drawing the hidden hand out. He was holding a garish gift bag by its drawstrings; in place of tissue paper, plastic bags stuck out of the top in tufts. “Sorry, I know it looks crappy,” he apologized as he handed it to me.
“No, it’s just…you got me a present?” I looked up at him in dismay. “I didn’t get you anything! When did you even have time to do this?”
“This morning, when I went to fill up my roommate’s car. It was a spur of the moment thing. Really. Don’t worry about it,” he insisted, seeing my hesitation. “I just happened to see this and thought of you.” That got me curious enough to pull out the plastic bags.
A half laugh escaped me as I gazed down at his gifts: a couple boxes of assorted band-aids, a new ace bandage, a bottle of ibuprofen, alcohol wipes, and some ointment. I looked up at him, grinning broadly as I held up one of the boxes of bandages. “Spider-Man band-aids,” I said, nodding. “Excellent choice.”
He had been watching my reaction carefully, and let himself grin at my approval. “Yeah, I figured you needed a restock, especially since you met me…and I know you love Spider-Man, so.” He looked unexpectedly bashful. “Oh, there’s one more thing in there. I didn’t actually buy it—I sort of…rescued it. I found it when I was helping collect donations for the rummage sale at St. Barb’s.”
I dug beneath the medical supplies and pulled out a battered copy of an old VHS tape: the cover showed an illustration of an old X-Men cartoon series. “Oh, my gosh,” I said, laughing again. “This is amazing. I loved this as a kid! Davin….” I couldn’t think of anything to say; I found myself getting a little choked up. It wasn’t so much the gifts themselves as it was the knowledge that he’d thought of me. “Thank you.”
He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Like I said, I saw the medical supplies and it reminded me of you and your first aid kit. When I saw the cartoon, I thought of you, too…I remembered you said you like the X-Men, and thought you might get a kick out of it. I know it’s a bit old school but….Wait, you don’t already have it, do you?”
“No.” I grinned, still looking it over as I shook my head. “I don’t own many movies, really. Old or new school.”
“An anti-materialist doctor, how refreshing. But just wait until the big bucks start rolling in. You’ll change your tune.”
I rolled my eyes, but he was laughing. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not a med student? What I am is an MK, and we just never really bothered about collecting a bunch of…well, we called them ‘worldly possessions.’ We lived pretty simply.”
“I’m not, like, tempting you or anything, am I?”
“No! This is fine. It was very nice of you. Really.”
“You’re not like, against technology like the Amish, are you?”
I shook my head. “We didn’t live that simply,” I laughed.
“I mean, are there movie theaters and stuff like that in Brazil?”
I sighed. Americans. “Yes,” I said patiently. “São Paulo is extremely modern, actually. It’s got a population around the size of New York. And at least as many skyscrapers, I’m sure.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He looked embarrassed. “I was picturing jungles, you know? Rainforests. Little huts. The Amazon and all that.”
“All of which I’m sure you can find somewhere in Brazil, just not in the city, where I’m from.” I smiled at him. “But don’t worry, that’s a common misconception.” “Well,” he scratched his head thoughtfully, “Pittsburgh is nowhere near as big and exciting as New York. But we love it, and it has its own charm, you know?”
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“I guess,” I shrugged. “I’ve hardly seen any of it outside Dubsy.”
“You—” He looked speechless. “You haven’t been dahntahn?”
“Where?”
He laughed. “Downtown. That’s how natives pronounce it. Don’t worry, you’ll pick this stuff up as you go along. Pittsburgh practically has its own language.”
“Hm.”
“So, you know, you really should get the experience of getting into the city.”
“Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’d like to,” I told him. “I just haven’t exactly had the opportunity yet.”
“How about now?”
“Now?” I stared at him.
“Yeah, why not? My roommate left me his car, and my grandparents sent me a little money for Christmas. We could see what’s open.”
I considered. “It would be nice to get off campus.”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind. I suggested it!”
“I know, but…first the gift and now a tour of the city…I’m starting to feel like I might owe you before the day is over.” I shifted awkwardly. If anything, growing up dependent on other people’s donations had only made me more determined to not find myself in someone else’s debt.
“Not a chance. I’m pretty sure the scales are still solidly tipped in your favor. Not that I’m keeping track, but if I was, I’d say I owe you.”
“For what?”
“Medical expertise.” He looked serious, except for a crinkle around his eyes. “And treatment.”
“Very funny.” I shot him a look. “How is your wrist, anyway?”
“See for yourself.” He pushed his sleeve up and I nearly gasped; except for very faint yellowish splotches, you would never have known his arm had been injured.
I looked up at him in consternation. “And it feels okay? You can use it normally?”
“Yep.” He clenched and unclenched his fist, waggled his fingers and rotated his wrist to prove it.
I shook my head. “You must be a pretty fast healer.”
He shrugged. “Not that I know of. I think it must have been your skill.”
Tall, Dark Streak of Lightning (The Dark Lightning Trilogy) Page 7