Clovers End - 5. Face to Face

James P.O.V

I know I'm breathing heavily, that's about the only sensation I can recognize. I feel numb, my awareness dangling by a single thread. I lay still, waiting patiently. Slowly but surely my other senses return, like water trickling down a stream, engulfing me from head to toe in wave of conscientiousness. I audibly groan, head throbbing. I tentatively begin messaging my temples. I hiss feeling an inexorable pang radiating from my left shoulder. Opening my eyes, an expanse of white stretches outwards above me, decorative panels supporting the negative space with intricate floral designs, feeding into dull washed down tones of sepia grey tiles involutedly festooning the thick walls. The rising sun, a fiercely luminescent ball of red, propels itself in a slow lackadaisical motion, casting streaks of orange light through an opaque glass door. It instantly warms up the dreary walls bringing out a bluish haze in it's undertones.

I lift myself up so I'm seated in an upright position. I notice a small figure peacefully resting it's head atop folded arms, on a cushion of the apparent couch of which I had been laid.

Instantaneously, I'm reminded of what had previously occurred. His mother, huh, I think to myself. She never even bothered to tell me she was pregnant before leaving. I sigh heavily. He does bear a remarkable resemblance to her; from the gentle curvature of his features to the thick long eyelashes, ampleness of his lips and the rosiness that unprotestingly resides in his cheeks. It's almost mesmerizing, nostalgic even, though I know he's not her, it's like seeing a ghost.

His hair, unlike his mother is thick and unruly, raven black. His mother's, on the other hand, although dark caught the light exposing tints of brown and sometimes gold. I gently brush a loose strand of hair from his face. He stirs, fluttering his eyes open, stretches and yawns, covering his mouth. He rises, and smiles warmly.

"Good morning," he cheerfully says catching me off guard, "I'm glad you didn't die or whatever.,"

"OH! I almost forgot", he adds snapping his fingers, turning on heel.

"Wait right here.”, he announces, leaving me with a perplexed expression on my face.

"Not like I can really go anywhere.'', I mumble sarcastically under my breath. I try to lift myself off the couch standing wobbly, the blanket, that was carefully strewn over me, slips of.

"OH, My God", he mutters gawking at me before his face flushes a deep red. He shields his eyes with one hand. I notice some clean bandages, a towel and small partridge of water nestled in a porcelain bowl being cradled by the other.

"I...uhhh....I...you..uhmmm," he sputters, clearly embarrassed. It takes me awhile to notice what he was trying to infer. I glance down, realizing I'm completely bare. I forgot he's human. If I remember correctly, they're not used to such free-ness, so it can be expected that he would be timid, but I assure you, in the werewolf world nudity is definitely an everyday occurrence .

"Sorry ", I whisper, covering myself up, reaching for the material and securely fastening it to my waist.

"You can look now," I say. He slowly parts his fingers to check if it's safe before removing his hand from his eyes. His face still a bright red, unable to look directly at me, he ushers me to sit down. He kneels down, removing the contents from the glossy white bowl and begins to pour hot water into it. The steam twisting frantically, intertwining with each other then dissipating altogether.

He slowly starts removing the bandages, his face littered with concentration. Trying to be as careful as possible he peels away the old fabric, besmirched with red-brown stains. He's just inches away from me. I lean in close smirking devilishly, I whisper into his ear, "You're gay aren't you?".

He freezes, then says calmly, "What gives you that idea?"

He dips the towel in the water, wringing it lightly, gently he dabs at the wound. It stings, I grit my teeth trying not to make a sound. Shortly after he starts the application of a fresh layer of dressings.

"Tomato is great colour for you.", I snicker.

"Screw you.", he chuckles.

I smile to myself. Somehow, something about this feels right. I clear my throat, hesitantly, he stops what he's doing and looks at me with full attention.

"James.", I stick my handout, "I don't think I got your name."

"Oh, sorry about that. I think you were to busy trying to kill me for me to be able to properly introduce myself.", he retorts.

"You can call me Alex.", He says trying to conceal a small smile. He takes my hand in his, and grips it firmly.

"In all seriousness. Alex, why did you do it?", I question.

He looks puzzled, "Why did I do what?".

"You know.After I...uhh...", I murmur, struggling to get the words out. It feels as though it's caught in my throat, subdued by the guilt of the situation.

"You mean..why did I help you?," he says cockily raising his eyebrow.

"That's easy it was for no other reason than I felt like it was the right thing to do, especially after that thing in the green cloak shot you,I couldn't leave you like that. It's what anyone would have done, really." he says beaming at me.

"Not everyone," I mutter below my breath, but that could explain why my wound is taking so long to heal.

At that moment the awkward silence is broken by a familiar face bursting through the window sending shards of glass flying vibrantly, decorating the floor like broken stars. She stands strong and tall for a person of her stature. The confident air about her barely masks the concern evidently etched into her features.