The air in the room was still warm with her scent.
Carley lay unconscious, her breathing shallow and satisfied, her lips parted slightly in a daze, her sweat-slicked skin glowed in the dying candlelight. Her legs remained splayed, twitching faintly from the overstimulation, glistening and used. I finally moved, pulling myself out of her grip.
A sharp inhale escaped her lips as she felt me move.
She was filled to the brim; the seed slowly began to descend out of her as I stood. I grabbed a corner of the blanket and covered her with it.
I stood there for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest, and finally exhaled when I felt the pain in my arm.
I turned away.
The hallway was dark and cold again. The cool air kissed my skin, turning my sweat into ice across my bare back. My arm throbbed with a dull sting; it was irritating, not painful, not anymore at least. The reopened wound had bled through the bandage Lilly had wrapped around it a few hours ago, darkening the fabric and dripping faintly down my arm, trailing over my elbow.
I didn't bother putting my shirt back on.
The living room was dark, if not for the moonlight pouring through the window. As I stepped in, I stopped mid-stride.
Alcia was there, sitting on the couch, legs drawn together, one hand stuffed between her thighs. Her body was tense, her hand tilted back against the cushion, eyes half closed in that dazed, distant look I'd seen too many times to mistake. Her chest rose and fell faster than usual, teeth biting her bottom lip.
I exhaled through my nose. I guess Carley and I weren't the only ones enjoying ourselves.
My shadow stretched across the floor before I did, and her eyes snapped open at the motion.
She gasped and sat upright, yanking her hand away like a guilty child caught in the act. "Wesker—!" she stammered, brushing hair away from her damp face, trying to play it off. "H-how long have you been standing there?"
I walked toward her as the moonlight from the windows behind her hit my face and bare chest, making it glow. "Long enough," I said.
Her guilty eye turned worried as they dropped to my bleeding arm. She stood immediately, the embarrassment gone from her face, replaced with panic.
"You're bleeding," she muttered, scared, Is it a bite?
"It's not a bite." I chuckled, reading the anxiety on her face.
She stepped closer, her fear subsided for the moment, her hand already reaching for mine, as she examined it with care, removing the makeshift bandage Lilly had made with my shirt.
The blood had clotted around the wound earlier and had even healed, but it had split open again from tension when Carley had gripped me in delight.
"Sit down. I'll get the med kit." She said, and moved before I could say anything. I sat down on the couch, exhaling. The exhaustion was catching up, it's been a long evening. Far too long.
First Duck, then Kenny, the Save-Lots, sigh! I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the couch.
[Alicia]
She hurried down the basement stairs, bare feet, pressing against the cold floor with soft taps. Her fingers still tingled. She hadn't even had the chance to finish, she hadn't expected to be interrupted, especially not by him.
She'd dared to approach the room, but stopped herself once the sounds became unmistakable. The begging, the curses, everything made sense as the moaning and groaning, the thuds of the bed, the rhythm of skin against skin, filled her ears.
So she retreated, toward the living room, as her room was too close to Carley's.
Her damp thighs were proof of her restraint. If she'd gone further, her shorts might have been soaked, her core still throbbed faintly, but she pushed down the sensation.
The med kit was tucked on a shelf among the cluster of boxes and duffel bags. She grabbed it, her fingers curling around the handle, and turned to head back up. As she reached the steps. She paused, her shorts had a visible wet patch between her thighs. She swallowed, and a flicker of shame rose. She could smell herself.
By the time she stepped back into the living room, her breathing was even, and her expression calm, at least on the surface.
Then she saw him, clearly this time.
Wesker sat shirtless on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed, the muscles of his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. The wound on his arm hadn't stopped bleeding, but that wasn't what held her gaze.
The moonlight from the window kissed his body like a sculpture cast in silver. Every line of him gleamed under the pale glow, from his chest to the sharp edges of his abdomen to the quiet tension in his jaw that had always been there ever since she met him. He looked like a man out of this world.
Even though it wasn't her first time seeing him like this, nor was it the first time she heard him groan, it felt different this time.
She didn't want to move.
She just stared at him. Until his eyes opened and met hers.
[Wesker]
I knew she was standing there, for over a minute now, with the med kit in hand, frozen in place, I could feel her eyes on me, staying far longer than meant to be. What's going on tonight? First Lilly, then Carley, and now her, too.
"How's the view?" I asked, voice low and teasing.
Alicia blinked and finally moved, walking over and sitting beside me. She set the kit down and opened it with calm hands. But her movements were a little too deliberate and controlled. Like she was forcing herself not to rush.
She pulled out gauze, antiseptic, a needle, and thread. All from the pharmacy back in Macon, Everett's drugstore.
I watched her take the needle in hand.
"You know how to do this?" I asked. "If not, I can take over."
She shook her head. Her lips parted, "Nick and I—" and stopped.
Her hand trembled.
It had been four days, and even then, that was all it took.
Her fingers, which had been gripping the needle tight enough to leave marks, began to shake, just slightly.
I reached out and took her hand in mine. Kept it still, "Go rest in your room."
Her jaw clenched, but not because of my words.
"I'm fine," she said quietly, forcing her hand out of mine. She was angry but not at me, at herself.
I let her go.
She leaned closer, wiping the blood from my arm with a saline-soaked pad. The sting wasn't bad, I was used to worse.
"This was already closed," she muttered, frowning as she examined it.
"It was," I said.
"Carley?"
I didn't answer, and she didn't ask again.
Instead, she cleaned the edges of the wound, pinched it tight, and threaded the needle with a speed close to Katjaa's, it wasn't her first time doing it. Her breath slowed as she pressed two fingers into the flesh around the tear.
"You ever stitch someone up before?" I asked.
It took a moment for her to respond. "Nick," she said, her eyes fixed on the thread as she pierced the skin. "Plenty of times."
The name hung in the air.
She pulled the needle through slowly, steadily. A clean bite, I watched her in silence.
"Skateboard crash," she continued, maybe just to fill the silence. "Mom was angry seeing him and me come home with injuries almost every day, so I learned to do it myself, and I even taught him. And mom was even more angry at the uneven stitches."
She forced a laugh, but it cracked halfway out.
Another stitch. The pain was a dull throb, pressure against bruised tissue, her hands were shaking, but she didn't stop, fearing it would get worse if she stopped.
I looked at her as she finished the third stitch. She bit her lip, hard. Trying to focus.
"You're doing well," I said.
She didn't respond. Not with words, the fourth stitch went in deeper, on purpose, for bothering her, making her remember.
"I miss him," she whispered, barely audible, "And I hate him for leaving me."
I said nothing. What was I going to say? I killed your brother?
The silence between us wasn't comforting, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
She tied off the thread, clipped it with scissors, and pressed the gauze to the wound. "Hold this."
I did.
She tapped it down, layered it cleanly, and finished without asking for help.
Then she just sat there, her hands in her lap, her eyes on the bandage she'd placed.
I leaned back against the couch. She shifted a little. Closer.
The room was quiet, save for the ticking of that old wall clock and the soft hum of the generator outside the barn.
Alicia looked up at me.
Her voice was soft, almost unsure. "Have you ever lost someone close to you?"
My jaw flexed at the question. "Maybe."
She smiled, as if she knew that would be my answer.
Her hand moved, resting lightly over the bandage, and then, after a breath, it shifted again, upward, across my chest. Her fingertips stopped at the base of my neck. The touch was light, but the intent…
"I used to think he would always be there when I'm in trouble," she murmured, pushing me down on the couch, and I let her, not knowing why. I'm too compliant tonight, but I don't hate it.
Alicia climbed over me, her legs folded on both sides of my waist. As she settled, she leaned, resting her head on my chest. Her arms looped around my neck as she buried her face further.
"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said, and I felt a drop of warm tears fall on my chest.
I wrapped my right arm around her, pulling her up, and she buried her face at the side of my neck.
"You're not."
.
.
.
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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