Chapter 6: Who Are you?.

"Stay with me."

He gives me a faint nod.

I secure the dressing with a bandage wrapped carefully around his torso, checking that it stays firmly in place.

Finally...The bleeding slowed.

Not completely but enough that I can breathe again without worrying that he will die on my table.

I step back.

My legs suddenly feeling weak.

"I think..."

I swallow.

"...I think it’ll hold."

There is no reply.

Only the steady sound of his breathing.

I stumble to the kitchen sink, turn on the tap and cold water rushes over my gloved hands.

I peel the gloves off and drop them into the trash Only then did I notice it.

My hands.

They are shaking Violently.

I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my trembling fingers.

A few minutes ago, I’d imagined smashing Sebastian’s face into a table.

Now...There is a real bullet sitting on my dining table, a stranger bleeding in my apartment and the terrifying realization that my life had just crossed a line it could never uncross.

The cold water runs over my hands, washing away streaks of diluted blood as pink swirls disappear down the sink amd I stare at them longer than I should.

I actually did it.

I removed a freaking bullet from someone’s body.

My stomach flips.

I grip the edge of the sink and take a slow, steady breath.

Then another.

My hands are still shaking, not nearly as violently as before, but enough that I have to curl them into fists to hide it.

"Get it together, Nerissa."

I splash cold water onto my face. By the third splash, my heartbeat has slowed enough for me to think straight.

I grab a clean hand towel hanging beside the sink and dry my hands.

"You’ve survived worse."

Have I? Actually...No. No, I haven’t.

I’ve never had a bleeding stranger stretched across my dining table before.

I let out a quiet laugh, It sounds slightly unhinged.

"Great."

I’m losing my mind.

I turn around and rhe laugh dies in my throat.

There’s a freaking gun pointed directly at me. Again.

For one suspended second...Neither of us moves.

The stranger is still lying on the dining table, hs breathing is uneven.

His face has grown even paler and a faint sheen of sweat coats his forehead. The bandages around his torso are already beginning to stain pink.

Even so...His arm is extended, his hand gripping the pistol with surprising steadiness.

Dark eyes meet mine without blinking.

I stare at the barrel aimed squarely between my eyes.

Then I sigh.

"Seriously?"

I gesture toward him.

"I just dug a bullet out of your body. You couldn’t wait five minutes before pointing a gun at me again?"

His expression doesn’t change.

If anything...It hardens.

"You should’ve left me."

His voice is rough and each word sounds like it costs him effort.

"I would’ve bled out."

I blink.

"That sounds like a terrible sales pitch."

"You should’ve let me die."

I simply look at him. Trying to figure out whether he’s joking.

He’s not.

I snort.

"Well..."

I glance at the bloody bullet still sitting in the metal tray on my dining table.

"It’s a little late for that now."

The corners of his jaw tighten but his eyes remain locked on mine.

Searching.

As though he’s trying to peel away every layer of me.

Finally...His arm lowers slowly and the gun rests against his chest once more.

I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"Thank you," I mutter.

"I was starting to think this was your preferred way of saying thank you."

I walk back toward the table, stopping a safe distance away.

Close enough to talk, far enough to dive behind my couch if he suddenly changed his mind.

"So..."

I fold my arms.

"We’ve officially skipped introductions."

His gaze never leaves me.

"What’s your name?"

Silence.

I wait.

Nothing.

"Do you have one?"

Still nothing.

"Or should I keep calling you ’The Giant Who Bled All Over My Apartment’?"

Not even a blink.

I click my tongue.

"Tough crowd."

I try again.

"Who are you?"

Silence.

"Where do you live?"

Nothing.

"Were you robbed?"

Nothing.

"Were you shot by your jealous girlfriend?"

His eyebrow twitches.

Aha.

Progress.

"So someone did shoot you."

No answer.

I lean against the kitchen counter.

"You know...Most people say thank you after someone saves their life."

He finally speaks.

"I never asked you to."

"True."

I nod thoughtfully.

"But here we are."

His eyes narrow ever so slightly.

"You ask too many questions."

"Occupational hazard."

He studies me.

"What occupation?"

"I don’t answer questions."

A tiny smile tugs at my lips.

"I’m kidding."

L

His face remains perfectly blank.

I point toward him.

"My turn."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I don’t answer questions."

He shifts slightly before continuing.

"I ask them. Not the other way around.

The sheer seriousness with which he says it catches me completely off guard and a laugh escapes before I can stop it.

"Oh..."

I wipe the corner of one eye.

"You weren’t joking."

Nothing.

"I like you."

His eyebrow lifts.

"Not because you’re charming or anything

Because you’re absolutely terrible at conversations."

Still nothing.

Beneath all that ice....There might actually be a human being hiding somewhere.

I push away from the counter.

"Fine. If you won’t tell me your name..."

I glance toward the bullet resting in the tray.

"...I’ll make one up."

His eyes follow me as I pretend to think.

"Hmm..."

"Mr. Grumpy?"

Silence.

"No?"

"What about..."

I grin.

"Bullet Boy."

His stare could freeze lava.

"Oh."

I nod.

"Definitely Bullet Boy."

He closes his eyes with what sounds suspiciously like an exhausted sigh.

For the first time since dragging him into my apartment...j don’t see a terrifying stranger.

I see a man.

An infuriatingly stubborn, armed, dangerously attractive man...Who somehow still had enough energy to glare at me after losing enough blood to fill half my kitchen floor.

I had a feeling...This night was far from over.