I try rotating my shoulder again and wince. “Hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Is it broken?” The sudden concern in his voice makes me feel sorry for myself, and my lips start trembling.
“I don’t think so.” I try moving it a little but instantly stop when it starts hurting. “I don’t know. Most likely bruised.”
“Let me see.”
I snicker. “Good luck with that.” I can’t even see him and he’s sitting right next to me.
“I’ll feel it.”
A moment later, I feel his careful fingers probing in search of my shoulder. When they finally land on my elbow, he slides his hand up to my shoulder where his fingers start probing carefully. I don’t think I’ve truly comprehended howbig the man really is before because the way his palm covers my arm makes me shiver.
“Tell me if it hurts.”
When his hand moves to one particular spot on the top of my shoulder, I cry out. He retreats from the painful spot but keeps moving toward the back. Then his other hand joins in, and he tries moving my shoulder a bit.
“Oh,” I exhale in pain, and he instantly retreats.
“I don’t think it’s broken, but definitely very bruised. It’ll hurt more tomorrow.”
I chuckle darkly. “Love your optimism.”
“I’m a realist,” he deadpans.
I look at him—well, toward his direction—but don’t see his face very well obviously. What life has he had that made him so jaded? “Shocking.”
It takes me a second of sitting in the rain before I’m quickly reminded of why I came out here in the first place.
“What were you doing here anyway?” he asks as if reading my mind.
“I came out here to pee.”
A pause. “Here? Why here?”
“Because it’s far enough from the camp to be decent.”
Another pause. “Why can’t you pee there?” He sounds so puzzled, it’s almost hilarious.
“Where?”
“Next to your place.”
“Because I sleep there!” I exclaim in horror.
“The rain will wash it away before it even hits the ground,” he contradicts in that robotic tone of a machine answering service I totally hate.
“Okay, fine.” I roll my eyes to the sky—a big mistake since it gets flooded with the forceful rainy stream. I don’t know if my retinas will survive it. “Because you sleep there.”
“Me?”
“You can hear me peeing.”
He chuckles at first. Then some more. Then it grows into a quiet laugh—a very tasteful one. In fact, it’s so nice and soothing that for a second there I forget that I need to go. Why is his laugh so beautiful? It was already unfair that a grouch like him was given the body and face of a fallen angel, and now he also has a nice laugh.C’mon, Universe, don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
“Have you?”
“What?” I ask, too lost in my own thoughts to follow his.
