Skinny Love- Birdy

Corynorhinus-Hanz Zimmer

By the time we got to the cabin, I thought she was dead. Real smooth Lahote, I thought grimly. You killed the only girl who makes you feel worth something. I shoved through the front door, freezing air washing over the both of us as I did. Haley shuddered lightly in my arms, the sound of her small whimper shooting ice through my heart again. I really needed to get a grip before this girl killed me without even trying….

I went straight to my old bedroom, laying her down in the freezing sheets although I should've warmed her up first. I could do that later. As she lay motionless, soaking my sheets profusely, I snatched a knife from the kitchen along with a bowl and three thick towels, grimacing at what I was about to do.

The last thing I'd ever dreamt of was hurting her. Hell, if it was up to me, I'd never even be allowed to touch her- I wasn't even worthy of touching her. If the spirits had had any sense, they would've given her to someone else in the pack, someone who could at least control themself.

She groaned lightly, her leg recoiling as I added to the thick gash on her leg, blood pouring out onto the towels as I ran the steel across her skin. Bleeding her out had been our only option. The closest hospital was nearly ten miles away, and we'd been lucky to even make it out of the storm in one piece.

"I know, I know," I said sadly, placing a hand on her forehead. "Just hang in there Baby, it'll be done soon okay? I promise."

There was that damn word again. She should've punched me in the face, should've given me some sort of sign that she hated it when I called her that-at least then I could've found the will to stop, but the word tumbled out of my mouth when I thought of her, along with several other inappropriate ones.

I couldn't help myself around her. She was flawless, easily the sexiest woman I'd ever seen in my entire life, even as she laid here covered in dirt and rainwater and grease, bleeding all over my towels, it took all of me not to kiss her full on the mouth.

I gave her a few more seconds before pressing down on the cut and cleaning it, fishing a needle and thread from my Mom's old kit and stitching her up. I was no doctor, but after a year and a half of running with the wolves, I'd learned a thing or two about First Aid.

"See? All better." I choked, throwing the bloody towels in the laundry basket. I ran a hand over her injury, wishing I could've done more to fix it.

"I still don't like you." She grumbled sleepily, her eyes fluttering closed. I couldn't help but laugh at her, and although I could tell she was still hurting, she smirked at the ceiling.

"Yeah, well, I don't blame you," I said honestly, standing and beginning to clean everything up. "Get some sleep."

"Leave your hand there." She said hoarsely, her tone becoming panicked.

"Leave my…what?" I asked, unsure of what she wanted me to do.

"It feels better when it's on there…you don't….I mean you don't have to, I was just say-"

"Stop before you lose your voice," I smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. I leaned against the wall and pulled her leg into my lap, rubbing the sore spot gently. "Like I said, sleep. You need it."

"If you touch me anywhere else while I'm out, I'll kill you."

I laughed again, watching her chest rising and falling in a slow, sweet tempo.

When I was sure she was out, I slipped out from underneath her leg and covered her in the thick navy comforter, trying to keep her as warm as possible.

"Sweet dreams, Princess." I said softly, glancing at her again before leaving the room.

The last time I was here, I was only seven. Mom was still around back then. Dad had bought this place as a sort of apologetic gift to her, a sad excuse for repentance when she found out he'd been cheating on her.

"All you gotta do is give a woman a distraction," he told me. "Give her a big enough distraction and you're free to be the man you really are."

The last thing I wanted to be was a man like him.

The floorboards were old and creaky, but the place had remained pretty clean. I stopped in the hallway to check the thermostat. Broken. I swore quietly. Great ,stormed in, and no heat. If push came to shove, I'd keep Haley warm-but I wasn't exactly how sure how close she'd let me get to her. If the answer was not very, I wouldn't blame her. Who would want me close to them anyways? I bit the top of my thumbnail, sighing. Again, why me? Out of all of them, why me? I peeked into the bathroom, floors still covered in beige shiny tile, the large wall-to-wall vanity mirror collecting a thin layer of dust from the years it'd been ignored. The claw-footed bathtub sent a jolt through my spine.

I remembered that bathtub.

I remembered Mom coming home completely wasted, crying because I wasn't her little baby anymore, crying because I never let her take care of me. When I finally did, allowing her to scrub me and run my water like I was three years old again, she held my head under the surface for four minutes straight. I saw her face again, distorted by the bubbles and rippling water, her sad, confused dark eyes staring down at me with a mixture of hate and jealousy and sadness and guilt. I didn't know what to think of her. I growled lowly. I was never getting into that tub again.

I shut the light off forcefully, slamming the door and then instantly regretting it. What if I'd just woken Haley? I checked her…my room again. Still snoozing. I sighed in relief, making my way next door to my parents room. This place felt forbidden. The walls ,two black and two grey, matched the thick black headboard and furniture, along with the silver and black checkered comforter. My Dad's flatscreen hung over the dresser, two clear-vile bubble glass lamps on each nightstand. I scoffed. He'd spend two hundred dollars on each of those. Two hundred dollars for a God forsaken lamp.

The kitchen was still dark green, the bottom half of the walls a woodsy, dark auburn color with Quaint flowers etched into the color in beige. The countertops were still black marble, wrapping around in a U-Shape opposite the fridge, stove, sink, and spare counters. The floor was cherrywood. Mom had it replaced four times. Once, when she threw her heels at my father and missed, the stiletto chipping the wood. Second, when she'd dropped her favorite bottle of White Bank Chardonnay. Third, when she'd thrown everything off the counters and tipped over the fridge in a fit of rage, and fourth when she tried slitting my throat, wrestling me to the ground. The end of the steak knife had lodged itself into the wood next to my face.

The living room was simple. A thirty foot tall ceiling, with light blue walls and a black leather couch that wrapped around a black glass coffee table. A forty inch flat-screen was perched above the wide black fireplace. To the left of the cough and T.V., bookshelves stood from the floor to the ceiling, no shelf left empty. The books reminded me of Haley's room, not that I'd ever admit to being in there. She'd probably choke me. I flipped on the T.V., the news woman babbling on and on about a chain of vicious storms crossing over Washington. Fantastic. The highest temperature estimated at about thirty degrees, and our heating didn't even work yet.

I needed to get out of this place. It wasn't healthy for me. I'd run away God knew how many times, and every time the police drug me back kicking and screaming, I could feel my Mother's toxin building up in my bloodstream over and over again, my body anticipating the torture it was about to endure. I hated her, more than I'd ever hated anything in my entire life. My fists started shaking, another growl ripping through my throat quietly. Breathe. Breathe before you blow the whole fucking house down and kill the girl you love.

In the other room, Haley shuddered in the cold.