Hiiii!
It's been too long and for that I am very sorry. Life just got in the way.
But I'm back and I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.
Thank you for being patient with me! Next chapter will be up soon. I promise!
Chapter 15
Rukia Kuchiki was in his arms, her head resting on his chest- the metallic tang of her blood invading his senses.
'Just hold on, okay. I'm gonna take you to the hospital.'
Rukia lifted her head, blood drying on her hairline, over her eye and down her beautiful face.
'No,' she rasped. 'Please no,' she pleaded, trying to push away from. 'No…'
'Okay, okay shhhh. No hospitals.' He ran a hand over her hair and she relaxed against him again.
Shit.
He scooped her up and laid her down on the long coffee table. He raced to fetch his medical kit and other supplies, thanking his stars that his father was the kind of man who had insisted his children learn his trade.
When he returned to her, he donned a pair of surgical gloves and quickly took stock of her injuries.
In addition to her head wound, there were bruises along the base of her throat.
Fury lanced through him.
Some had put their filthy hands on her-tried to strangle her.
Later, he reminded himself. He could be angry later.
Her sleeve was torn on her left side, blood dripping onto his floor from her upper arm. He started there, cutting away the blood- soaked material. He tied an elastic string beneath the deep gash to staunch the blood flow, then cleaned and disinfected the wound thoroughly.
Rukia barely twitched as he swabbed the alcohol disinfectant across her skin. Even as he threaded the needle through the wound, she remained unmoving, save for the slow up-and-down of her chest.
When he was satisfied with the stitches, he moved on to the wound on her head. Locks of her hair stuck to her the dried blood on her skin. He carefully wiped the blood away and stitched that wound too.
He then lifted her shirt to check for any other wounds. A part of the fabric stuck to the skin at her ribcage. With a slight tug, it came free, blood blooming afresh from a small cut.
He swore and quickly took care of it.
Bile rose in his throat at the blueish skin just above the cut he had stitched not too long ago. There was another scar on her right side-this one running across her ribcage. He offered her a silent apology as he cut her out of the rest of her clothes, then removed her shoes and socks.
More blue bruises marred her pale legs, one knee scraped red. With warm, soapy water, he gently ran washcloth over her cold skin. He stilled at a jagged scar high on her left thigh-it was like something had ripped through her flesh.
He forced himself to move on, to not think of what could have made a scar like that. He took the washcloth to her bruised arms, and on her right bicep, he found another scar-this one thin and neat. Again, he reminded himself self not to linger.
After wiping her face, making certain to clean her blood-crusted eyelashes, he ran the cloth over her hair. Then he perched on the edge of the coffee table, slid an arm underneath her and laid her head on his shoulder. He took the washcloth to her back, where he found fresh abrasions, and what looked like a scar from a gunshot wound. He frowned noting how the scar was too close to her spine. The washcloth fell from his fingers and he wrapped his arms around her.
He knew it was wrong of him, but he couldn't help but hold on to her for a moment.
Minutes later Ichigo was watching the shallow rise-and-fall of her chest. She needed an IV, pain medication, antibiotics, a blood transfusion probably. She may even have a concussion. She needed to be in a hospital.
But instead, she was in one his hoodies, unconscious in his bed.
He should take her to Karakura General. Or to his father's clinic.
She would be furious with him, but she would be alive.
He checked her pulse- it was strong-thankfully; and her skin warmed too.
An hour, he told himself. If she didn't, at least, stir in an hour he would take her.
Half an hour had gone by and she hadn't moved.
Neither had Ichigo.
He had dragged a chair to her bedside and sat vigil, watching for any movement, any change in her breathing.
'Ichigo!' She shot up suddenly.
He was beside her immediately, one hand on her shoulder, the other on the side of her face.
'I'm here,' he reassured her, looking into her panicked eyes.
She gripped the front of his T-shirt, her breathing fast and uneven.
'I'm here,' he repeated.
Her gazed bore into his, as if discerning a dream from reality. She heaved a sigh and then her head settle onto his chest.
'You're here.' She said it so quietly, that he would not have heard her if she had spoken the words right over his heart.
Ichigo kissed the top of her head and slowly stroked her hair, soothing her to sleep.
It is was only when he laid her back onto the pillows that he noticed she still had his shirt in her grasp. Gently, he removed her fingers from the fabric, brushed his lips over her knuckles and tucked her in.
He stayed at the edge of the bed until her breathing evened out with the steady rhythm of sleep.
He couldn't stop his from fingers flitting over the purple bruises on her throat-anger bubbled up in him again.
If he ever found the person who had done this to her…
If he could, he would hunt down every single person responsible for those scars on her body.
And he would make sure no scar would ever mar her skin ever again.
Rukia woke up with a pounding in her head. Her left arm felt like lead, and there was a horrible ache in the rest of her body. And she needed to pee.
She used her good arm to slowly lift of the bed, and then there were strong hands supporting her weight, helping her stay upright.
Blinking back sleep, orange hair and pretty brown eyes came into focus.
Right.
She had come here like a damsel in distress.
'You alright?' he asked, with his hands still resting at her sides. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the concern in his eyes.
She nodded.
Ichigo's hand then rested on her forehead.
'Your body temperature seems okay. You should eat so you can take something for the pain.
She nodded again.
His eyes went to her throat and an angry expression took over his features.
'Okay then,' he said, then left the room.
His room, she noticed now she wasn't distracted by him. She was in his room-in his bed. And, wouldn't you know it, wearing his clothes. A dark grey zip-up hoodie that smelled wonderfully like him.
Fuck, if she was wearing his clothes that meant he had to take of her other clothes, which means he had seen her body, and that means he had seen her horrible scars-scars that she took great pains to hide, scars that usually disgusted men.
He'd know now for sure that the woman with whom he had sat under the stars wasn't as beautiful as she pretended to be.
She let her body slump over, and that's when she remembered she had to use the bathroom.
She swung her sore legs over the bed, and padded to the room across the hall, remembering the last time she was here. Then, she had been able to escape before Ichigo woke up.
When she was done-with no help from her now useless left arm- she emerged from the bathroom to find Ichigo waiting for her.
'Are you okay?' he asked again.
'Just needed the bathroom.' She hated how thin and weak her voice sound.
'Oh, good,' he said, the relief clear in his voice.
He guided her back to bed, ignoring all assertions that she could sit in a chair. A bowl of steaming soup sat waiting for her on a tray on the bedside table. Once she was settled comfortable against the pillows-his pillows, Ichigo placed the tray across her thighs. He then made sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to eat.
The soup smelled amazing. And tasted even better; warming her up from the inside out.
'Did you make this?' she asked him, keeping her eyes on the soup.
'Huh? Yeah, I did.'
'It's good,' she said, still avoiding his eyes. She couldn't even remember the last time she had a home-cooked meal.
'Thank you,' she told him when she was done. He took the tray and returned with medication.
She swallowed the two white pills he gave her and drained the water from the glass. He left again and by the time he came back with another glass, she was already half asleep.
She felt his fingers brush her hair away from her face, and then his lips on her forehead.
When she woke up again, the room was dark. The bedside clock told her, in blaring red digits, that it was 7.15pm.
She was still in pain but her head was clearer, and she felt steadier as she got out of bed. It was time she went home.
A familiar feeling came over her. Like when she was little and her sister told her it was time to leave the playground. Or when her brother-in-law told her to leave the only real home she knew.
This isn't your home. And he isn't yours-a voice reminded her.
But he could be-another voice said.
Yes, he could be. But he deserved better.
So, she should go home.
She followed the sounds to the kitchen where it looked like Ichigo was cooking again. He turned when he heard her footsteps.
'Hey,' he smiled at her and her heart did that flip it did whenever he smiled. 'I need to change the dressing on your wounds, so you should shower-if you want. Or I could just change them now.'
'A shower sounds good.' She would go after she showered. God knows she definitely needed it.
'There's a fresh towel on the railing. Shout if you need help.' His ears coloured as he said that last part, and she walked away before he could see her own blush.
In the bathroom mirror, she surveyed her injuries. Besides her head and arm, she had bruises all over her body, the worst of which were on her throat. She could still feel those fingers pressing into her skin. She couldn't believe she had survived that fight. By some miracle she was still alive, and a big part of that miracle was Ichigo.
With a heavy sigh, she turned away from her reflection, and showered as quick as she could with one good arm. She wrapped the towel around her and rubbed some toothpaste on her teeth before she dashed back into his room, where she found a pair of black sweat pants and a black t-shirt laid out on the bed.
Both garments were in women's sizes-her size, to be exact. Next to the clothes was black socks and underwear-the same kind she had been wearing all this time-boy shorts and a sports bra.
She ran her fingers over the clothes. He had actually bought her clothes. And underwear. He also cleaned away all the blood from her body. He cooked for her. Sat by the bed as she slept.
There was an uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes, and her throat felt tight.
Not since her sister, had anyone ever taken care of her like that-like she was precious; like she meant something.
She shoved that thought all the way into the recesses of her mind and began to dress.
Ichigo knocked on the door just as she struggled to slip the t-shirt over her head
'Come in,' she called- with just one arm through the sleeve.
When he came in, he paused by the door briefly. She stared at him and she was sure her cheeks had gone red.
Without a word, Ichigo set a trayful of medical supplies on the bed, and helped her with her shirt. His knuckles skimmed her sides as he pulled the shirt down, and Rukia willed his hands to stay to her on her hips, but he stepped away and took a seat on the bed.
'Sit,' was all he said.
She did as he told her, he and began to unwrap the wet bandage on her arm. She had to admit, she hadn't even tried to keep it dry.
She fully expected him to berate her for it, but he just worked in silence.
'Thank you for the clothes. I'll pay you back. I promise.'
'No need for that,' he said, then more silence.
'You went through all the trouble. At least-'
'No trouble, midget. These days there's this magical thing called same-day delivery.'
'But still-'
'No.'
More silence.
'What time was it when I woke up earlier?'
'Around 3 or 4pm. I think'
'You left the station early? For me?' Her disbelief was obvious.
'I didn't go. Told them I got food poisoning.'
'Huh? Why?'
'How could I leave you alone in that state?'
That pressure behind her eyes returned and a warmth spread through her aching body.
He had finished with her arm and then moved to her head wound. He so close that the only thought that ran in her head was: kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.
'There. All done,' he said, tucking her wet hair behind her ears.
Kiss him.
'Come on, let's eat,' he told her, holding out his arm for her. She let him help her to the kitchen table, relishing in his strength.
Rukia decided that would eat and then she would go home.
The next morning, when she awoke, she was in her own bed, in her own apartment.
Her cold, empty, Ichigo-less apartment.