Then the pain in my side registers, and I groan.
Matteo is off me in a flash and flips on the bedside lamp. Darkness creeps over his eyes as he gives me a once-over, the vein in his neck throbbing violently the second his gaze stops at my side. “Shit.”
Abandoning me, he walks to the door to turn on the big light, and I flinch as my eyes don’t have any time to adjust to the harsh light.
Matteo makes his way back over to me, his angry footsteps sounding across the carpet. The covers are already down by my feet, thanks to my terrifying nightmare with my attacker. No, not my attacker, but Matteo. I can’t believe I just fought with him like that.
It all felt so real.
What a mess.
Matteo is back by the side of the bed, pushing up my shirt to expose my midriff. He takes his time to pull off the bandage, but it still aggravates the pain.
When it’s off, he scowls at my waist and closes his eyes. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
I focus on my breathing to try and get rid of the aftermath of the nightmare. It’s sticking to me like a dark cloud, and I hate the way it makes me feel. Like I can’t escape this hell of anxiety and fear . . . like I’ll never be okay again . . . like I should have died alongside my mom, or maybe instead of her.
“I need to wash off the blood to see the damage.” Matteo’s voice comes from next to me again, but it doesn’t sound as clipped as it usually does.
I open my eyes and gasp at the sight of him. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”
With a heavy feeling in my stomach, I take him in. There are scratch marks all over his hands, arms, and shoulders, even a couple on his neck with bloody streaks marring his beautiful tattoos.
His gaze flicks to me, then he focuses back on the wound. “Don’t worry about it.”
I flinch as he pours some water over my injury and dabs it dry with a washcloth. He’s gentle and careful, and it hurts like a bitch, but my brain is still focused on his body.
How can he say not to worry about it? “I hurt you.”
“Not as much as you hurt yourself.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I’m used to a lot worse. A few scratches don’t bother me.” He gets closer to the wound. “The corner split open a bit, but the sutures are still in place. You should be okay as long as you take it easy. No more thrashing around.”
I huff out a breath. “Trust me, if it was up to me, I’d never have this nightmare again.”
He applies ointment and a new bandage, giving it one more soft press, then pushes to his full height again. His dark eyes bore into mine, and they’re filled with questions I’m not sure I’m ready to answer.
So before he can ask anything, I say, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “One day you will. Now go to sleep.”
Leaving everything where it is, he drags the blanket back up and turns off the main light and the small one on the nightstand.
I expect him to leave, but instead, the bed dips on the other side.
Careful not to make any sudden moves, I stay on my back and only turn my head in his direction, trying to see him. But my eyes haven’t adjusted enough yet, so I just stare into the darkness. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“I think you’re in my bed.”
“Technically, it’s my bed.”
I grab the edge of the blanket and roll it between my fingers. “Yours?”
“Yes.”