Chapter Fifty-Four

                                    

                                          
Blair 
I hiss when the cold air hits my foot as Ashton unwraps it. He seems to have taken it upon himself to be the one to personally see to my wounds, cleaning and redressing them for me. 
Turns out Carter didn't just have the cars taken away so we'd all be trapped here but he actually had whoever it was bring supplies to tend to my hands and feet. 
I haven't said thank you and as it stands I have no intention of doing so either. 
Ashton was also insistent on them being done now and something tells me it's a way of distracting himself away from the tension that's building between him and Carter. 
Although I'm still pissed with them all, I can't help but be proud of him for finally voicing how he's feeling. Even if in my opinion it was only a slither of the turmoil of emotions that are undoubtedly swirling around inside his head. 
He's silent as he works, the only sound around is the soothing sounds of the nature around the cabin.
In any other situation I'd probably enjoy it, but right now it's seems to make everything feel intense. I can't help but feel the need to break the silence. 
"How did you get so good at doing this?" I ask, my voice strained as he applies the swab to clear the area. 
His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before he smirks and replies. "I play with knives Blair" he says and just that simple phase has me clenching my thighs together as the memory of exactly what he did with his knife floods my mind. 
It takes me a moment to pull myself together before I can gather the words together to respond. 
"Right but that doesn't answer my question" I point out, my tone even more strained which only seems to cause his lips to curl up in a crooked smile this time. 
He's completely silent whilst he focuses on cleaning and reapply the dressing and the whole time I watch him intently waiting for a valid. When he finally glances up and meet my gaze he must get that's what I'm waiting for because he sighs pulling off his surgical gloves. 
"These tattoos" he says gesturing to the detailed skulls and vines wrapping around his wrists. "They cover my scars" 
I can't help but gasp as the meaning of his words actually sink in. 
He reaches over and gently takes my hand, his touch so soft I can tell he's trying not to cause me any pain. He brings my hand to his wrist and strokes my fingers against the raised skin there. The scars so thick I know straightway that the cuts musts have been deep. 
As he moves my fingers further up his arm I feel them all. Scar after scar that mars his skin. There's so many it's impossible for me to even attempt to count them and before I know it my vision is blurred from the tears that pool in my eyes. 
"Why?" Is all I can manage to say because of the lump forming in my throat. 
He takes a deep breath, his grip tightening around my hand a little, causing it to sting but I don't flinch or make any attempt to pull away as I see the conflict written all over his face. 
"I'm not gay," is his first response and it actually makes my heart hurt that it's the first thing he feels like he has to say. As if he thinks I even care about that. "I just..." he then says trailing off as he shakes his head. 
It takes him a tentative minute to gather his words before he sucks in a breath and continues. "I always thought that there was something wrong with me. I was attracted to girls like all my mates were, but..." I can see how difficult this is for him so I keep quiet and let him go on without interrupting. "But there'd be times where it wasn't just the girls I wanted" he then explains, a shudder running through him as if he's disgusted with himself.