A Word of Praise

She looked at him dumbfounded, but he was looking ahead at the road. Did he realize what he just said? She wanted to ask but didn't really know how. Maybe he didn't mean it. It was just a figure of speech.

It didn't take long for them to reach his apartment, but it felt like hours of excruciating silence to Kiara. She was not one to dwell on words and feelings, but then again, she was not used to those particular ones. They got in to find a warm welcome to Kiara. She loved the giant dog and embraced him as best she could without using her hands.

"Traitor," Chris called out, earning himself a rough bark. Was that really the first thing he had to say after... that?

"He can't help it, I'm delightful," Kiara joked. Her face was smashed against his fur and her arms were around his giant neck.

"You are," he pointed out. She tried to hide her smile, but she couldn't help it. Get it together, Kiara!

"Your home is huge! I was wondering how you kept an eighty-pound dog in an apartment. Now I know."

"Ninety." "What?"

"He's a ninety-pound dog. Are you hungry?" He asked.

"Yes!" She was craving a midnight snack. Or three a.m. snack, to be accurate.

"I'll go get us something to eat from the market across the street. There's gauze, bandages, and ointments here, is there something else we'll need from the drugstore?" She shook her head, and he left.

For the first time since she saw him at the club, she had some room to breathe and think. His presence was a bit overwhelming and she didn't even know why he was there. Well, to get her back, apparently. But why now? Or ever. She was fine by herself. Probably.

She went into an exploration crusade across his huge apartment to find what she needed and eventually found his first aid kit under the bathroom sink. All the steps were sheer torture, from opening the cabinet to taking out the ointment and bandages, but she had to do it. There was no way in hell she'd have him tending her wounds. That was too much.

Giving her a ride and picking up some food was fine. She knew she could have done it by herself, so there was no problem letting him do it for her. But taking care of her hands would be hard, so she had to do it herself. She simply couldn't rely on someone else for that. She took care of her wounds before - all of them. She'd do it again now.

Flexing her fingers was impossible, so she used her knees and mouth to open the balm and spread it on her palms. The bandage would be trickier, and she took a large breath before embracing the pain. She sat on the floor and relied on her flexibility to wrap the cloth, circling the damaged area a few times as best she could.

The final result was shitty, and she knew it. The wrap was loose and if she moved her hand too much, the bandage would fall in no time. But it didn't matter, she would just eat, talk, and sleep, so it would hold.

She was putting away the first aid kit when she heard him coming back in. Her stomach was dying for some food, so she jumped to her feet and met him at the door. His first reaction was to look down at her hands. "What the fuck, Kiara?"

She looked down and shrugged, getting close to the food, and peeking inside the bag.

"What did you get? Tuna? Fuck, I love tuna sandwiches."

"I was out for five minutes, why the hell didn't you wait for me to help you out with that?" He pointed at her bandages again and she rolled her eyes.

"It's not my first rodeo, I know how to tend to a burn."

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"It's not about knowing, Kiara. I'm here to help. You did a terrible job there." He got closer and took her wrists in his hands. Kiara didn't fail to notice he was doing that an awful lot. Then, he began to remove her painfully wrapped bandages and she recoiled.

"Stop!"

"I need to tighten them, that way it'll fall apart while you sleep."

"I can take care of myself." Her voice was higher than she wanted it to be, but then again she was tired, hungry, and in pain.

"I know, but you don't have to." He was looking at her weirdly. Shit.

"Can you just say what you have to say and let me go?"

"Why are you doing this?" There was something new in his face, something she couldn't place. He wasn't mad at her for being stubborn, which she knew she was. He was sad like she was taking something away from him. "I told you, I don't need your help." She probably did. She hated it, but she did.

"I need yours."

"What?" Was she in such pain that she was becoming delusional now?

"Shit, that's not how I had planned to start. Well, fuck it." He seemed to be talking to himself, but then he looked into her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm adopted"

"What?" She repeated, even more confused now.

"Edgar and Patricia are not my biological parents"

"I know what adopted means, Chris. Why are you telling me this?" She was lost, and a bit too tired for what seemed like an important conversation. But she wouldn't stop him.

"I know it's not an excuse, but that's why I have that fucked up relationship with them."

"So you know it's fucked up?" She didn't mean to be so harsh, but it was an overwhelming conversation.

"I know now. That's why I need you." His voice was less commanding this time. She arched a brow.

"What do you want from me?"

"Right now, I want to take care of you." She was ready to protest, but he spoke before she could. "I know you don't need it, but I owe you at least that."

He owed her. She could have that. He wasn't taking care of her wound because she needed it, but because he owed it to her. He probably did, for everything he put her through. "OK."

"Ok?"

"Yes, you can help me out tonight. Now give me my sandwich."