I pulled out a clear plastic container, unsnapped it, and opened it wide, poking through the various items. “Peroxide?”
Thomas recoiled.
“You can punch two full-grown men until the skin sheds off your knuckles, but you can’t handle a few seconds of a fizzy burning sensation?”
“In the medicine cabinet. The mirror pulls open.”
“I know. Mine, too,” I deadpanned.
“I tried to walk home without—”
“Attacking them?”
“Some people are belligerent, predatory assholes their entire lives until one person comes along and beats the shit out of them. It gives them a new perspective.”
“Is that what you’re calling it? You think you did them a favor.”
He frowned. “I did the world a favor.”
I poured the hydrogen peroxide over his injuries, and he sucked air through his teeth as he jerked his hands back.
I sighed. “I just can’t believe you lost your shit like that over a stupid insult and an empty threat.”
Thomas leaned his face toward his shoulder and used it to wipe his cheek, smearing two small specks of blood.
“You should probably bathe in this,” I said, holding up the big brown bottle in my hands.
“Why?”
I grabbed tissue from the toilet paper roll and soaked it in the disinfectant. “Because I’m fairly certain that’s not your blood.”
Thomas looked up, seeming bored.
“I’m sorry. Would you like me to leave?” I asked.
“Actually, I would.”
“No!” I snapped.
“Oh! That insults you.”
I dabbed at his wounds with a clean cotton ball. “Strangers can’t hurt my feelings, Thomas. People I care about can.”
His shoulders sagged. He suddenly looked too tired to argue.
“What were you doing at Cutter’s?” I asked.
“I’m a regular there.”
I frowned. “You haven’t been.”
“I needed a drink.”
“Bad Monday?” I asked, wondering if there was ever a good one.
He hesitated. “I called Travis on Friday.”
“April Fools’ Day?” I asked. Thomas gave me a few seconds. “Oh! His birthday.”
“He hung up on me.”
“Ouch.”
Right when I said the word, Thomas jerked his hand back.
“Son of a—” He pressed his lips together, the veins in his neck swelling, as he strained.
“Sorry.” I flinched.
“I miss you,” Thomas said quietly. “I’m trying to keep it professional at work, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’ve been kind of a bear. People are likening it to the days just post-Camille.”
He laughed once without humor. “There’s no comparison. This is much, much worse.”
I concentrated on wrapping his wounds. “Let’s just be glad that we didn’t let this get too far.”
He nodded. “You should definitely be glad. I wasn’t that smart.”
I let my hands fall to my lap. “What are you talking about? You told me two weeks ago that you couldn’t love me.”
“Liis…do you have feelings for me?”
“You know I do.”
“Do you love me?”
I stared into his desperate eyes for a long time. The more seconds that passed, the more hopeless he looked.
I let out a faltering breath. “I don’t want to be in love, Thomas.”
He looked down at the bandages on his hands, already dotted red with his blood. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No.”
“You’re lying. How can you have such a strong personality and be so fucking afraid?”
“So what?” I snapped. “You would be scared, too, if I told you I was still in love with Jackson and you were way, way out of your emotional comfort zone.”
“That’s not fair.”
I lifted my chin. “I don’t have to be fair to you, Thomas. I just have to be fair to me.” I stood and took a step backward toward the door.
He shook his head and chuckled. “You, Liis Lindy, are most definitely my payback.”