Adjusting - 4. Chapter 3 - Injuries

After eating their sandwiches in silence, Alex quickly washed up the dishes (ignoring my efforts to stop him and clean up after myself) and took my hand to lead me around the house. Unfortunately, I didn't take in what he was saying at first since I was focused on ignoring the tingles running up and down my arm. I wanted to fight his touch, my memories wanted to fight his touch. People couldn't be trusted.

A silent moment passes and I'm snapped out of my reverie by deep chuckling. My head shoots up and I glare at Alex.

"What?" I huff at him.

"We've been standing here for the past two minutes in silence," he said in between chuckles. I blushed and looked at my surroundings. We were in a large, fancy bathroom. Where the kitchen was incredibly dark, this room was incredibly light. Pale yellow walls and matching towels made up the only color in the otherwise white room.

"Why are we in here?" I asked as I sat down on the edge of the regal claw footed bathtub that could probably fit three people.

"Haven't you taken a look at yourself yet?" Alex said, answering my question with a question and only fueling my irritation. I opened my mouth to give him a sarcastic retort when he suddenly picked me up and set me down in front of the large mirror. He moved me too quickly for me to be able to process him touching me. My statement died as soon as I looked at myself in the glass.

It may be true that werewolves heal faster than humans, but only by a small amount. A bruise that a human may have for three days would only stay on a wolf for one. We don't heal cuts instantly and we don't have superpowers.

Because of this, it made sense that I looked like utter shit.

My face was blotchy and swollen in areas. My once small nose seemed to be crooked; it was most likely broken. My small lips were cracked and puffy, my once round cheeks were concave, and my black eyes covered their electric blue color. Also, I was caked in dried blood. Disgusting. My hair was no longer its original white-blond color, but had turned brown from all the dirt and blood that had gotten into it.

I turned my face away from the mirror and shakily pulled up the sleeves of my long sleeve shirt. Dark purple, green, and blue bruises covered my arms. Long scratches marred the formerly pale skin. Dried blood matted the small amount of wispy blond hair I had on my arms.

I was in complete shock. "Oh," I said softly. I sat down on the closed toilet and shut my eyes, though it pained me to do so.

"We're in here so I can clean you up," he said.

No. I didn't want him touching me. No one could touch me. Everyone who touched me ended up hurting me.

I opened my eyes and watched Alex as he banged around the bathroom. He brought out cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, and clean towels and set them on the gleaming counter. He then put the stopper in the sink and filled it up with warm water. He wet one of the towels and turned to me before gently wiping the dried blood off my face. I flinched at the touch of the towel, but since it wasn't skin to skin contact, I was able to keep still.

A minute or so passed with us in complete silence. I had no idea what I would say and Alex seemed to be heavily focused on cleansing my wounds.

He finally wiped off the last of the dried blood on my face and neck and set the red-stained towel down on the counter beside him. I gasped when he suddenly reached down, grasped the bottom of my shirt, and yanked it up and over my head.

I quickly attempted to cover myself with my hands and arms, not wanting Alex to see all my imperfections. Over the years of pain and running, I had acquired numerous scars from many different types of wounds. Name the scar type, and I most likely had it on either my chest or my back. Fire, knives, claws, teeth, whips; the list of weapons used on my body seemed endless.

For some reason, my eyes began to water as I thought about my marred body. How could anyone ever love someone as horribly disfigured as me?

A soft touch on my shoulder caused me to jump, and I looked up and into Alex's eyes as he quickly removed his hand. He seemed furious, and I was confused as to why.

Genuine confusion coated my voice as I asked him, "Are you mad at me?"

The anger left his eyes and instead softness took them over.

"No," he replied after a silent moment, "I'm mad at the people who thought they could do this to you."

A small smile appeared on my face. He cares.

Alex smiled back at me before grabbing the towel again to clean off my chest. Once my front was blood-free, I stood up and turned around before sitting back down, straddling the toilet seat. When I was seated again, Alex started cleaning my back.

Alex broke the silence when he asked, "So, why were you so beat up when I found you?"

This is it, I thought. Once I tell him, I'll be kicked out again. I've said it before: no one likes rogues. So when I told him I was one, I knew he was going to banish me like everyone else had.

A sudden bout of loneliness came over me and I struggled not to show it.

My next words were quiet; I didn't want to have to leave again so soon. "I'm a rogue. I went on their territory. They had every right to kill me if they saw fit."

"Why did you go on their territory?"

His reply shocked me. No one had ever asked first before. With rogues, it was always attack first, talk later. "I was starving and suffering from dehydration. I couldn't really think any farther than getting to the nearest source of water."

"Well, then why did they attack you? You were doing any harm."

I stared at him for a moment in shock.

"What?" he asked.

"You aren't the alpha around here, are you?" I asked, though my words sounded more like a statement.

He shook his head and I sighed. He had stopped cleaning my back off a while ago so I turned around to face him.

"Nobody really likes rogues. They're seen as traitors who deserted their pack. They can't be trusted. So whenever one is found on a pack's territory, they're wanted dead, not alive."

"Why are you talking about rogues like this?" he asked me, throwing me for a loop. "After all, you are one. Why do you hate rogues so much?"

"I don't hate rogues," I snapped at him. "I just hate everyone."

"Everyone?" he asked. "Even me?"

I paused in my thoughts and looked up at him. His emerald green eyes were sparkling and held something in them that made me want to trust him.

"No," I said against my better judgment. "I don't hate you."

His face lit up with a huge smile that took up half his face. I gasped at the sight; it made him even more beautiful.

"Thank you," he said before standing me up and telling me to take off my sweatpants.

I gaped at him. "No!" I almost yelled.

"Relax, you can keep your underwear on," he said.

I remained still for a moment before giving in and taking my pants off. My face lit up in a bright red blush and I averted my eyes. I felt him hastily wipe all the blood off my legs. When he stopped, I looked up and saw him standing in front of me with the hydrogen peroxide and cotton balls.

"Sit down on the edge of the tub and put your feet inside," he told me.

I complied and quickly did as I was told. I propped up my left leg so he could more easily access it.

He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and, after setting the cap aside, soaked one of the cotton balls.

"This is going to hurt," he warned before wiping at one of the many cuts on my propped up leg.

I hissed through my teeth at the pain, but otherwise kept quiet. I'd gone through worse.

Alex kept apologizing as he worked, which confused me. Why would he care?

Several agonizing minutes later, all of my cuts were fully cleaned. Alex bandaged them all up and handed me a clean outfit, including fresh boxers, before stepping out of the bathroom. I quickly changed and joined him in the hallway.

“What now?” I asked him, unsure of myself and what I should be doing.

“Now, we meet the pack.”

Shit.