Adapt (I)

SCARLET

I awake to rustling at the foot of my bed. Then the unmistakable feeling of four feet shifting the mattress, followed by a sniffing sound and a wet nose nudging my ear.

I weakly lift my arms to hug Phoenix, who is anxious to figure out if I am alive or not. With my arms around his neck, he promptly plops down, pinning one arm under him as he takes up, what I am sure is, a defensive position. Phoenix always senses when I am hurt.

I look over to the doorway to see Boe with a plate of food in one hand, and a cup of something that looks like soda in the other. He walks over and places both on the bed side table.

I swallow. “What time is it?” I croak.

Boe sits on the edge of the bed. “A little after one in the morning.” He whispers.

I must have been out for a long time then. Pressure of my bladder is brought to the forefront of my mind. “I need to get up and use the restroom.” I pause and reconsider. I haven’t had a shower since the fight, which has probably left me in a state resembling the wake of a hurricane. “And a shower.” I add.

Boe nods. “Do you want me to wake Caron?” His gaze flicks over to the pile of blankets in the corner of the room.

The blankets are Caron. Her peaceful face arrested in sleep; the spaghetti strap of her tank top slipped off its perch on her shoulder. No, I can’t wake her.

I shake my head slightly, so as not to tug at my stitches and move my bladder. “No, actually, if you could help me...” the thought of Boe helping me use the bathroom sends a shockwave of fear through me. “I mean, you don’t have to help me with everything, just help me get to the bathroom.” I say.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Stop being such a prude.” He says, standing and telling Phoenix to move. To my surprise, Phoenix shifts off me enough for Boe to help me up from the bed.

The pain in my stomach isn’t the thunderous roar that it was. Now, it is a piping hot throb of pain beating like a steady drum throughout my body. My muscles are stiff, and my head feels light, but somehow, I know that I am healing.

Boe helps by supporting some of my weight as we walk. Once we get to Trent’s small bathroom I stagger in, using my hands to support my weight on the sink. “Thanks.” I say to Boe, who gives me a nod before softly closing the door.

I slowly overcome the challenge of using the toilet. Bolts of pain thread through me as I go through the motions, but thankfully the need outweighed the pain, helping me to push through it.

I wash my hands at the sink and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. As suspected, my hair is a mess. It will take a bottle of conditioner and twenty minutes of combing to get it untangled. My face is marred with dirt and blood, yellowed bruises peeking out from under my skin. More shocking than that is the hollows around my eyes. I don’t think I have ever seen myself so haggard. I sigh, turn on the shower and set about trying to remove my clothes.

I start with something easy - taking off my shoes. I slip one foot out, using the toe of my other foot. Pain jars my body and I bite back my whimper. I take a breath, which hurts like Hell, and I ease my other foot out from the boot, my fists clenching. I give myself a few moments before I try to remove anything else, letting the tears run down my checks. After the worst subsides, I start with the remains of my hoodie. I ease it up, then feel a sharp pull in my stomach. I cry out before I can smother the sound.

The bathroom door creaks open. “Is everything okay?” Boe’s voice asks through the gab.

Defeated, I lean against the sink. “Um, no, not really... do you think...” I wonder if I can wait for Caron to wake up. I look back in the mirror and sigh. “Can you help me? I can’t get my hoodie off.”

Boe opens the door and softly closes it behind him. He comes up behind me and looks at me in the mirror.

I close my eyes and laugh. “I look like a dumpster fire.”

He chuckles. “Whatever. Here.”

I turn and lift my arms, feeling like a child. My wound screams at me but I try to shove it down.

Boe lifts my hoodie and works it over my arms, leaving me with just my sports bra on. He balls the hoodie up and drops it on the floor. I lower my eyes, hoping to hide myself from his gaze.

Boe snorts. My eyes shoot up, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. But when I see his face, it is soft and slightly amused. “This is definitely not how I pictured undressing you for the first time.” He jokes.

I bite my lip, a smile threatening my lips.

“There’s that smile. Now stop being so modest. And stop biting your lip. Let me help you take a shower. I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

I arch a brow at him. “You mean you won’t look?”

His lips purse in a suppressed smile. “No more than completely necessary.”

I narrow my eyes at his qualifying statement, but I really want a shower. With a roll of my eyes, I turn my back to Boe and let him unclip my bra. His fingers brush my skin, sending feathers of heat though me. Even in pain, Boe’s touch still affects me.

“Do you need help with your sweats?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.”

Boe steps back and turns to the shower, peeling back the curtain and checking the temperature, giving me the illusion of privacy.

With a deep breath, I try to cram down my embarrassment, shed my bra and take off my sweats and underwear. I loosely wrap a towel around my body before Boe turns back and holds the shower curtain for me. I go to the edge of the tub and lift my leg.

A white-hot thunderbolt of agony shoots through me, sending my balance off kilter. My hands fly out to catch myself on the wall or the tub. Arms, like iron bars, curl around me and re-centre my balance.

My cheeks must be bright red at this point.

“Are you okay?” Boe asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice. I move, to show that I still intend to get into the shower. Boe obliges, helping me into the tub. Once he is sure I am stable he closes the shower curtain. To his credit, he is every bit the gentleman that he promised to be, which relieves me.

And irks me for a reason I cannot entirely understand.

I unwrap the towel and reach to hang it on the shower rod, wincing at the movement. The water running over my skin feels incredible. Boe had set the water to the perfect temperature. I waste no time drenching my hair, careful not to let the dressing get wet. I lather my hair with entirely too much shampoo. Once it is rinsed, I pack half of Jess’ conditioner into my hair and drag my fingers through the knots. I’m sure I haven’t gotten them all, but it will be a darn sight better than before. Letting the conditioner sit in my hair, I carefully wash my body. Or should I say, the parts I can reach without pulling at my wound.

Once I’m done, I turn the water hotter and let it run over my back. The steam seems to make the air softer, making it less painful to breath. I take progressively deeper breathes, testing how much my diaphragm and damaged lungs have healed. The progress isn’t remarkable, but it is definitely progress.

I close my eyes and the cogs of my mind begin to turn. For the first time in three days, I allow myself a few moments just to think.

My best friend has been assaulted.

I fought monsters that kidnapped and raped girls my age.

I found out I am half therian.

I kissed Boe.

I feel my chest tighten, but I really don’t have ammunition for tears right now, which I’m grateful for. If the water works start, I have no idea how my wound would cope. I know that when I get to finally process everything, I will be a puddle on the ground. For now, I just let my mind brush over these thoughts, before folding them nicely and filing them in a draw for another time.

“Scarlet?” Boe’s voice echoes in the bathroom.

I jump a little. I had assumed that once he had helped me into the shower he had slipped out of the bathroom. “Yeah?”

There is a pause before he asks, “Are you okay?”

I guess my lack of movement had made him worry. “Yes.”

I cup some water and rinse my mouth out. I search my mind for something to say, feeling like I need to fill the silence. I’m not usually one for small talk, but I want to hear Boe’s voice. I rub my face with more aggression than necessary.

“Boe?” I suddenly ask.

“Yes?”

“Why did Alex call you Mercury?”

I hear a huff on the other side of the curtain. “You heard that, huh?”

I don’t say anything.

He sighs. “Mercury is the name my mother gave me. I was the product of my mother and a one-night-stand who I’m guessing was a hunter. When I came back from my first mission as a lone hunter, my Captain nick-named me Boe, because I wrapped the whole mission up in a nice neat bow. I don’t know whether my success associated with the name made me like it better than my real name, or if it just felt more like me.”

I nod, knowing that Boe c!n’t see me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

Another sigh. “Ahh... I don’t know... because I don’t really think that I am Mercury anymore. Boe is... if you want, you can call me Mercury. I don’t mind.”

I chew on my lip, thinking about calling him Mercury. I wonder what it was like being a child called something as obscure as Mercury. For some reason, I just cannot picture it. But I can picture Boe - as a kid that probably enjoyed playing football and having root beer floats on hot summer days. “No,” My tone is light-hearted. “I don’t think I can bring myself to call you Mercury... seems too ‘Gen Z’ of a name for you anyway.”

Boe’s chuckles vibrate off the tiles. The timber of the sound sends a warm flush over my skin.

“Are you ready to get out of the shower yet, Ranger?” Boe asks.

I shut off then water in answer. I take the towel down from the curtain rod and wrap it around my body before opening the curtain. Boe, is standing there with another towel, hand outstretched to help me out of the shower. I don’t bother trying to get out of the tub by myself. I take his hand and step out. Refreshed by the shower, I am able to harness some of my tolerance to combat any bolts of pain that simple movements bring.

Boe wraps me in the extra towel, ruffling my hair in the same way I ruffle Tamara’s hair when I give her a bath. Laughter bubbles from me before the flames in the centre of my body tame the action.

Boe bends and pats my legs dry as well. When he rises, he hands me the towel he was using. “Here. I’m going to get you something to wear.”

I frown. “I don’t have any clothes here at Trent’s and I don’t want to wake anyone up.”

Boe gives me a wry smile. “I got some of your clothes when I picked up Phoenix.”

My chest swells with gratitude. “Thank you.”

He gives me a wink before ducking out of the bathroom.

I barely pat the rest of my body dry and wrap my towel back around myself before he is back. He hands me another pair of sweats and a big shirt I don’t recognize.

“This isn’t mine.” I say, holding up the shirt.

One corner of Boe’s mouth lifts. “It’s mine. I figured it would be easier to get on than one of your t-shirts.”

“Oh.” I say. “Umm, do you think you could help me get it on?”

The smirk gets a little broader, but he says nothing. Instead, he takes the shirt. He threads my arms and head through easily. It falls over the towel. Instantly, I feel a whole lot less exposed.

“Sweats?” he asks. I shake my head. Bending down isn’t as bad as reaching up. “Okay then, well since the show is over, I will be waiting for you in the room.” He gives me a devilish look, before slipping out the door.

I want to take a few more moments to gather my thoughts but a grumble in my stomach alerts me to the fact I haven’t eaten in a long while. I remember the cup of soda and the plate Boe had brandished earlier. I drop my towel, don my sweats and leave the cloud of steam behind in favour of seeking out the food. When I walk into the room Caron is awake, rubbing her eyes. “Finally.” She says in a sleepy tone, before rushing out to use the bathroom.

The soft glow of the bedside table light shadows the room. Boe is folding up one of the blankets he had used and sets it in a neat pile with his pillow. He then goes to Clarke’s bed and takes the top blanket off that I had dirtied with blood and whatever else had attached itself to my clothes from the slaughterhouse. Phoenix shifts and resettles himself on the sheets.

Once Boe tosses that blanket into the hallway he ushers me over to the bed, then shoves the plate at me. “Eat, you need your strength.”

I look down to see pizza. Still warm peperoni pizza with melted golden mozzarella. I groan. “Oh, my God!” I shove one of the pieces straight into my mouth, thankful that the hot cheese has had time to cool. The salty, cheesy goodness tastes like the heavens and the stars had a baby, and that baby is pure artery clogging grease and happiness.

I look over at Boe, my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. His face is beaming with a smile that is a mixture of pride and amusement. I like amusing him, I think. I like making him smile. It makes my insides twist and flip in the best way possible.

“Thank you,” I say, barely swallowing my food before speaking. I hope he hears the genuine, deep seeded gratitude I feel toward this gesture - bringing me something as unhealthy as a pizza because he knows it is my favourite.

He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles and passes me the glass of soda. I grasp it in my hand, trying my best to chew my food before swallowing it. Boe gets up and opens the small window at the foot of Clarks bed. I welcome the sweep of the cool air in the room, but my attention quickly turns back to my meal. I gulp at the soda.

Too late I realize I swallowed everything too quickly.

The motion sends a shock wave through me as my diaphragm attempts a hiccup. In a flash, the plate is cleared from my lap, the glass out of my hand. I buck back, a gasp and hiccup coming at the same time. Agony slices through me. I feel like I am being ripped apart by Thomas again. I let out a guttural moan as I feel the next one coming. I clutch at my wound. The hiccup fills my chest in an instant, bulging my lungs and pushing at my diaphragm. The stitches pull, then pop.

My hand fills with blood.