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“What the fucking fuck?!” Rae screeches, pain radiating through her palms and knees as she hits the asphalt. She rights herself as best she can, but her legs give out and she plops down right there in the middle of the street. She slams a palm flat against the hood of the car, wincing as her bloodied palm makes contact with the hot metal. “Fuck!”
She blinks back the tears as best she can, fingering the holes in her leggings where her knees have been torn up. Fucking figures, it’s been a shit day and if this isn’t the capper, getting hit by a fucking car on her way home.
Rae hears the car door open, and she tries to wipe at her eyes, but her hands are cut up and full of gravel, and she’s just sitting there staring blankly at the pale skin colored with oozes of red and chunks of black and smudges of brown. It’d almost be pretty if it didn’t sting so badly.
“Holy shit, are you ok?” Says a male voice from above her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!”
“No, I’m not fucking okay! You hit me with a fucking car? In what possible world would that be okay?” She yells, craning her head to look at him. It’s a huge mistake, she thinks immediately, because he’s gorgeous and she’s bleeding and crying and filthy, and her rage is a precious fragile thing like an egg, ready to crack open without much pressure.
“Jesus.” He crouches down beside her, right there in the middle of the street, car door still open, and takes her hand into his. He carefully brushes the gravel away, glances up at her when he hears her audible wince. His eyes are like the prettiest, warmest brown she’s ever seen and he’s got freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t know how to drive, either, it seems.” She mutters darkly, looking away.
He grunts, and she looks back, ready to be affronted at his gall, but he’s moved on to examining her knees, fingers brushing over the exposed skin. She’s never had a boy touch her knees before, so she’s not sure if it’s supposed to feel this… strange. Tingly almost, but that might just be the blood starting to ooze out. His fingers are impossibly gentle as they skate around the line of the torn fabric, and she sees that a little bit of blood gets on his skin. This, more than anything else, disconcerts her.
“This looks bad.” He says, face tense with concern. He’s so pretty, it’s hardly fair. She can feel her ire draining, leaving an unpleasant sense of trembliness in its place.
Rae stifles another wince as she pushes her battered hand against the pavement. A whole new set of pains starts up when she puts pressure on her injured knees, and she wobbles slightly. The boy springs from his crouch effortlessly, in a way that makes her jerky movements seem even more pronounced, and holds out his hands to steady her. Rae brushes at her hair as she tries to stand straight, but she’s lightheaded and hollow-feeling.
“Hey, hey.” The boy soothes, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. She’s never had a boy touch her there either. She thinks that this might be a bad way to start the boy touching her business, because the next boy to put hands on her couldn’t possibly be so fit. She starts to giggle, and this is when she realizes that maybe she’s less okay that she thought.
The boy pull opens the passenger door of his car and sits her down, then crouches again with an arm on the door handle and the other hand on top of her seat. “Okay, listen…” He starts, and then frowns. “What’s your name?”
“Rae.”
“Listen, Rae. My house is just down the street, okay? I’m gonna take you there and get you cleaned up, get you some tea. Are you dizzy?” He moves his face towards hers, looking into her eyes. His eyebrows are fuzzy, and they’re furrowed and God, he’s cute. Maybe she can get him to kiss her in exchange for hitting her with his car. Might be a fair trade.
“Wait, what?” Her brain finally catches up with his words. “No! I’m not going to your house! You just hit me with your car! This could be some kind of serial killer baiting thing! Give me a bump and then lure me to your lair for murder time!”
Unexpectedly, he laughs. Rae frowns, curling away from him as best as she can in the confines of the car.
“Look, Rae. I didn’t mean to hit you with my car, and I’m certainly not looking to murder ya. But you’re bleeding, and a bit shook up, and I feel really fucking bad and I’d like to take care of ya, okay?” He shakes his head, gives her a sympathetic smile.
“I don’t even know your name, murder boy.” Rae protests, but she is shaken up and hurting and she’s still a ways from home.
“Finn.” He says, laughing again. “Though I kinda like ‘murder boy.’ It’s better than my last nickname, anyway. Please, just let me look after ya a bit and then I’ll take you home, or wherever you want to go, okay?”
Rae cocks her head and considers him. Finn straightens up under her scrutiny, gives her what she assumes is his best ‘I’m not a murderer’ smile. He seems decent enough, even if he did hit her with his car. And she really doesn’t want to walk home with her knees screaming in pain, so she supposes it’s worth the risk. She nods.
Finn smiles briefly at her, taps the open door a couple of times and then goes to retrieve her bag from where it’s still in the street. Rae tucks her legs into the car, wincing, and leans her head back against the head rest.
“Right.” Finn mutters as he climbs in the car, carefully setting her bag on the seat between them and starting the engine. Loud music blares out of the stereo, and she barely has time to recognize the familiar strains of Belle and Sebastian before Finn reaches over to turn it down. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Rae retorts shortly. “This is a great album, I don’t mind. At least you’re not blaring Tool or something.”
“You don’t like Tool?” Finn’s quick to reply, but he’s smiling and he’s turned the music back up a little.
“You do?”
He laughs, and Rae looks down when she finds herself blushing. She picks at a run starting from her knee and traveling up her thigh. She’s feeling less woozy, and more like a fat girl who has bizarrely found herself in the company of a fit lad, squabbling about Tool. Which is to say, decidedly and uncomfortably aware of every inch of space in this car.
“They’re not so bad.” He shrugs, and puts on a pair of dark sunglasses. She’s thinking that it makes sense that he ran into her, because he’s not a very focused driver.
“Ugh. Next you’ll be telling me how much you love Bob Marley, too.” Rae shakes her head, turns to look out the window. They’re off the Main Street now, traveling down a suburban road lined with beautiful houses. Beautiful houses where beautiful boys live. She wishes she wasn’t so disheveled.
“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with Bob Marley. A fuckin’ genius, he is!” She stares at him incredulously for a long minute. The Belle and Sebastian had been so promising, but apparently he’s just another idiot. Shame. “What do you like, then? What’re you into?”
“All kinds of things. Good things.”
“Like what? Besides the Stone Roses.” Finn asks, jerking his head at her shirt and making a sharp left turn that makes her sway in her seat.
“I dunno. Oasis. The Smiths, Pulp, Primal Scream, Massive Attack. All sorts, really. What’re you into?” He pulls the car into a driveway, and Rae peers through the windshield at the house before her. She can feel him looking at her, but she’s stuck examining the house, guessing at its occupants. She turns to find Finn staring at her, wide eyed, engine cut. “What?”
“I’m into all that stuff, too.” He says wonderingly, like it’s a miracle that they happen to like half a dozen of the same bands. She rolls her eyes. “C’mon.”
He picks up her bag and gets out of the car. Rae stares up at the house for another few seconds before following. Finn’s waited for her at the hood, and he reaches an arm out like he’ll need to steady her again. She shakes her head and he shrugs, then turns towards the door.
The sun had begun to set before the accident, and it’s nearly full dark now. Finn flicks on a light switch in the foyer and another in the kitchen, but the rest of the house is dark and empty.
“Where are your parents?” Rae asks quietly, pressed by the hush of the house.
“It’s just me and my Dad.” Finn shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto a chair, but sets her bag gently on the kitchen table. “He’s out of town for the weekend.”
He pulls a chair out for her, gestures for her to sit, and she nearly groans in relief to be off her aching knees, even after just a couple of minutes. He fills the kettle at the tap and turns on the stove, then grabs a glass from a cupboard and fills it with water as well. Rae watches him. It’s nice, she thinks, to have a boy fussing over her like this, taking care of her. To have anyone taking care of her.
He hands her the glass with a smile, holds out a finger. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
And then, it’s just her in this strange kitchen. His house makes a lot of unfamiliar, quiet noises. It’s nice, sort of. The hum from his fridge is different than hers, and the clock above the kitchen sink ticks softly. She takes a deep breath and relaxes a bit. This doesn’t seem like the house of a psycho killer.
He’s got an armful of stuff when he comes back in, and she finds herself smiling in bemusement as he mutters to himself, setting it all down and arranging it. She’s got both hands around her cup, because the cool glass feels nice against her injured palms.
“Here,” Finn stands and pulls out a bottle from his back pocket, then shakes out three small blue pills, “these’ll help with the pain.”
Rae nods and takes them. He watches her, biting his bottom lip, until the kettle whistles and he moves to take it off the burner. He finds mugs, sets about making tea.
“How do you take it?”
“I’m okay.” She starts, but he frowns at her and she concedes. “Milk and two sugars.”
He smiles at her, like he’s pleased, and Rae looks down at her hands. It’s all so strange, like she’s in a dream. The clock chimes seven. She senses more than sees him set down the mug on the table next to her, and then he’s peeling her fingers off the glass and frowning at her hands. He pulls a chair close, facing her, and then he’s pulling a washcloth from a bowl below them that she hadn’t seen him put there.
“This is probably gonna sting.” He says, and she looks up to find his face close to hers, worried eyes fixed on her. She swallows, nods. He holds her hand in one of his and uses the other to wash away the dirt and blood and gravel. She turns her face away, tries to hide her pained expression, but he sighs softly so she knows he sees. “I’m so sorry, Rae.”
“S’alright.” She mumbles as he rinses the cloth and then uncurls the other hand in his palm. He’s looking down now, watching as he cleans the wounds gently and cautiously, so she watches his forehead furrow and his lips twist. He’s flushed for some reason, and he’s obviously concerned and contrite. She sighs.
Finn drops the washcloth back into the bowl and sets her hand carefully back on her thigh, then twists in his seat to collect a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some bandages. He takes her hand back, then pours the liquid into her palm. They both watch it bubble; the fizz and their breathing are the loudest sounds in the kitchen. He pats her palm dry and then smoothes a bandage over her skin, taking care to press the edges into her flesh. It feels good, the places he touches her that aren’t hurt. Rae finds her eyes fluttering shut as he repeats the process.
“There.” He’s nearly whispering as he finishes with the second hand. She can’t tell if it’s her imagination, if it’s the strange warm heaviness that’s settled over her, but it seems like he holds onto her hand for a few seconds longer than necessary. He clears his throat. “Let me see about your knees.”
She can’t tell what her face is doing when he shifts his chair and lifts her legs so that they’re resting over his lap. He prods tenderly at the swollen skin, tugging at the holes in her leggings so that he can see how far down they go. She’s bled in some spots and he has to pull the blood-stiffened fabric where it’s stuck to her leg.
“It’d be easier for me to clean this if you took off your leggings.” He says, and even through her wide eyed horror, she can tell he’s embarrassed. He rubs one hand on the back of his neck, the other resting on her right shin. When he looks at her, sees what is her undoubtedly flaming skin, he holds both hands up. “You don’t have to, of course. But, it’d be easier. I could do a better job if you did.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I promise not to perv on you.” He says, offering her a shifty sort of smile. His ears are red. “Well, anymore than I already have.”
Rae’s laughing, breathless, confused. She’s suffused with a pleasant dreaminess, maybe the medicine, but more likely some kind of defense mechanism for getting through this bizarre situation. Her brain has had enough of this crazy day and has clicked off. It no longer seems strange to be sitting directly under a light in this softly ticking kitchen with this unrealistically gorgeous boy giving her lingering touches and possibly flirting with her. So fuck it, she’s just going to go with it.
Finn seems bolstered by her laughter. He gives her a big, open grin.
“I’m more of a tits man, anyway.” He says, then deliberately drops his eyes to her chest. It’s only a second before he looks back up to make sure it’s okay, that she knows it’s a joke, but it has the intended effect. She laughs, blushes. “So, you’ll take the leggings off and I’ll get you fixed up, yeah?”
Her breathing feels heavy all of a sudden, deliberate as she looks into his laughing eyes. “Okay.”
“Um,” he mumbles, looking down at her lap, up at her face, and then back down at her knees. “Shall I? Or, uh, there’s a bathroom just down the hall.”
Rae pulls her legs from his lap quickly, like she’s been scalded. She feels scalded, feels like the heat that surged through her at the thought of him reaching under her skirt and peeling down her leggings has razed her. She can’t look at him, just scrambles down the hall, leaning against the closed door of the bathroom once she’s found it.
She stares at herself in the mirror for a long minute, at her blazing cheeks and glazed eyes. She almost doesn’t recognize herself. She drops down on the closed toilet and tugs off the ruined leggings, balling them up in her hands. She doesn’t look back in the mirror on the way out of the bathroom. She doesn’t want to see who she is just then, bare legged in some boys house.
Finn’s still in his chair, biting his thumb, when she comes back into the kitchen. Rae hurriedly shoves the leggings into her backpack and sits back down, gulping her tea. It’s still hot, and it burns her tongue. It should sober her, shake away some of the cloudiness in her head, but it doesn’t.
Finn’s looking down at her legs when she looks over, and she clears her throat. He reddens, then gives her a grin. “Sorry. God, I’m such an arse. First I hit you with my car and then I perv all over you even when I said I wouldn’t. I’ll do better.” He lifts the bowl onto the kitchen table, grabs a fresh washcloth and dips it. Then he pats his leg. She stares blankly. “Gimme your legs, girl.”
For a moment, she’s paralyzed. It’s one thing to take off her leggings, it’s another entirely to put her bare legs in his actual lap. Did she even shave this morning? She’s horrified at the thought of putting her huge hairy legs right in this fit guy’s face. From the corner of her eye, she sees Finn shake his head. He bends to put a hand on either leg, low, over her calves, and then he looks at her for permission. Rae takes a deep breath and nods. He lifts her legs gently, but she still grips the seat of her chair.
The water is warm as he washes off her knees, and she watches as the water dribbles over her skin and soaks his jeans. He rinses the washcloth and cleans them again, and she’s fascinated by the movement of his hands. Finn runs his finger around her knee, tracing the lines of the bruise that’s started to bloom spectacularly under her skin. He makes a sad sound and raises guilty eyes to hers, bottom lip pouted out.
“I’m so sorry, Rae. I feel awful.” He says, then wraps his fingers under her knee tenderly, caressing her bruised flesh with his thumb. Rae gasps, shifts. No one has ever touched her like this, and she’s inconveniently discovering that there’s somehow a line that connects the back of her knee to her groin. It takes everything she has not to squirm and wriggle beneath his touch. “Does it hurt?”
“Uh…” She’s dazed. No, it doesn’t hurt, it feels amazing. “A bit, yeah.”
“Let me just clean it, and then I’ll get you home so you can rest.” Finn shakes his head dolefully. He bends over to collect more supplies, and Rae angles her legs to give him better movement, but still her legs brush against his chest. He steadies them with one hand, looking down. “What happened here?”
Rae freezes as she sees that his thumb is pressed against one of her scars, the lowest one. There’s only a couple showing, but it’s enough. She swallows back tears, chokes out a flippant reply. “Oh, just clumsy, I guess.”
Finn looks up at her, brow furrowed, for an uncomfortable moment. Then he looks down and holds a towel under her legs as he pours the hydrogen peroxide over her. “Huh,” he mutters, then “maybe it was you who hit the car, then, instead of the other way around.”
Rae’s laugher is loud and surprising. He grins at her and unwraps the bandages, pressing them over her knees quickly and efficiently. There’s no imaginary lingering this time, and she’s grateful. She’s lost control over herself and she needs to go home. Rae drinks the rest of her tea and stands. Finn smiles at her, wads up the bandage wrappers and throws them away.
“So, they’re going to be worse tomorrow.” He says authoritatively, wincing. “I’ve had that sort of bruise from football a time or two, and it’s always worse the second day.”
“Great.” Rae grunts as she puts her jacket on and tugs her hair back out of it. “I was going to walk down to the record shop tomorrow, but I guess that’s out.”
They walk towards the front door. Finn doesn’t bother turning out the lights, so she can see him tug at his ear as he offers, “Oh, well, I could take ya, if you want.”
“That’s okay.” Rae shakes her head as she opens the car door and gets in. When he slides into his seat, she continues, “I’m sure you’re busy. Got loads more girls to hit with your car, I reckon. Right, murder boy?”
He laughs. Belle and Sebastian jangles through the car again, and his laughter fits perfectly with the notes. Rae smiles at her lap.
“Nah, didn’t get to kill you yet, gotta try again.” He jokes, then quickly scrambles to counter it when she doesn’t laugh. “I mean, not really, obviously. I don’t want to kill you. Despite hitting you with my car. But, um, yeah. If I killed ya, I wouldn’t get to see you again. Except for the time I killed you. But that’s not…”
He huffs. Rae takes pity and laughs at his bumbling.
“My point is…” She can see his blush through the fleeting light from the streetlamps. “I’d like to see you again. If you want. I don’t mind driving you to the record shop tomorrow. I mean, I’d like to. Or take you to dinner or something.”
“Finn. You’re going the wrong way. My house is on Elm Street.”
“Right. Right. I probably should have asked that.” He chuckles weakly, then turns to look at her as they pull to a stop. “So, um… about tomorrow?”
Rae watches the houses tick by as he turns, keeps her face towards the window. The tape clicks off in the stereo and it’s silent for a couple of kilometers.
“It’s that one, just there.” She says as they draw closer to her house. He stops out front and she shifts in her seat to look at him. He frowns at the steering wheel, and she smiles. “Do you really like Tool?”
He jumps a little at the sound of her voice, looks over with a confused smile. “Would it help if I said no?”
Rae cocks her head. “Pick me up at noon.”
“I’ll bring my best murder knives.” He grins.
Rae closes her eyes and shakes her head, opens the door. “You’re an idiot.” She calls over her shoulder as she gets out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”