JESSICA
"His wound is okay. No veins were hit."
I nodded absently at my Aunt Cora, who had expertly stitched up Adolf's wound. She managed everything because I was utterly useless in such situations. My knowledge of medicine was nonexistent.
"He aimed to hit a vein," she said softly, her eyes avoiding mine, as if she knew a secret too painful to share. "It's clear his intention was deep enough."
"Why would he do that?" I whispered, though the answer was painfully clear. He was suicidal, likely because of the torment of his life. This was probably not his first attempt.
She sighed deeply. "No one knows. You should ask him."
I nodded again, feeling a lump in my throat. Before retreating upstairs, I glanced at Aunt Cora, who busied herself with her medical supplies.
"Aunt, how many times has he done this?"
Her silence was heavy, and she avoided my gaze once more.
"Sixteen times. I've always managed to catch him in time. But if his luck runs out, he'll die."
Sixteen times? The number hit me like a physical blow, leaving me weak. I had thought his self-destructive behavior was a passing phase, but this was far more serious.
I hurried upstairs to my room, opening the door gently. There he lay, on my bed, his eyes closed, his arm draped over his forehead. I stood there, taking in the sight of him. He was now only wearing a T-shirt, a stark contrast to his usual layered clothing, revealing the healed scars that told the story of his long battle with pain.
"Adolf?" I called softly, moving closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.
He opened his eyes, his expression weary. "What?"
"Why... why did you do that?" I swallowed hard, bracing for his answer.
He looked away, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. "She left me. Went with her boyfriend," he said weakly.
Jean. Of course, it was Jean again.
"And you're avoiding me," he added, his eyes now on mine, filled with sadness. "Maybe you're disgusted—"
"I like you," I interrupted, my voice trembling. "You like Jean. What do you think I'd do? Of course, I'd avoid you."
He sat up slightly, his expression unreadable. "Now you're the one who's disgusting," he said blankly.
"I know!" I retorted, frustrated. "That's why I'm avoiding you. I need to move on."
He scoffed, "Move on? From what? We were never together." He grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling me down onto the bed.
"Ouch! What the hell?!"
Annoyed, I fixed my hair and sat back up, combing through the mess he'd made.
This guy was infuriating, always pulling my hair!
"That's probably why you kissed me, right?" he asked with a smirk. "You took advantage of me."
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. He was staring at me with an intensity that made my heart race.
"Sorry! You wouldn't calm down!" I defended myself quickly.
"Whatever," he teased, sitting up fully. "Tell me, was I good to kiss?"
W-What?!
"You're so full of yourself! You're the one who asked for another kiss, remember?"
It was true. He had asked for another kiss, and I had given him a peck. Just a friendly kiss... right?
He narrowed his eyes, "But you went along with it?"
"Because you wouldn't get up! Should I have carried you?"
"But you still went along. It's not my fault you desire me."
WHAT?!
"I don't desire you!"
The nerve of this guy!
"And I don't know how to kiss. You were the one who moved! Mine was just a peck!"
He chuckled, "Oh, poor you. You don't even know the basics of kissing."
I grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.
"You're lucky you have a wound," I said, annoyed. But when I looked at his face, I paused.
He stopped laughing and stared back at me. We fell silent, the tension thick between us.
Without a word, I hugged him, burying my face in his neck as tears streamed down my cheeks. He was startled but soon wrapped his arms around me tightly, his face nuzzling into my neck.
"You're really messed up," I whispered through my sobs. "Promise me you won't do that again. Please, don't ever do it again."
He hugged me tighter, his breath warm against my skin. "Promises are meant to be broken, Jessica," he whispered, "But... okay, I promise."
A sigh of relief escaped me. The silence that followed was profound, a shared understanding that required no words.
"How about we go on a date?" I suddenly suggested, still leaning against his chest.
He pushed me away, his face scrunched up in disbelief. "No," he said firmly.
I raised an eyebrow. "I'm the one courting you, and you're resisting?"
His eyes widened. "What the hell? Are you sure you're okay?"
"You're being picky?!" I snapped. "I'm the one courting you, and you still don't want it? You’re so pretentious!"
"I don't like you," he said flatly. "So, no. No dates, no courting, or whatever weird thing you want."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not ugly, right? Okay, I'm not as smooth-skinned as Jean, and I'm not as sexy as she is, but I'm pretty, right?"
Yeah, I praised myself.
He didn't answer, just stared at my face like he was studying every detail.
Tss.
"Even Torres likes me. And you're still being difficult?" I muttered, knowing he heard.
"Who’s Torres?" he asked indifferently. "Maybe his eyes are just bad. Poor him."
I glared at him. "Torres. He's the one I almost hit with a keyboard for you. The one that got sent to Guidance."
He rolled his eyes. "Then be with him. Maybe the trip to Guidance affected his brain. Or maybe he has a brain tumor or something."
I stood up abruptly.
I shook my head. "I don't know about you. You act like you're so handsome."
Damn, he's really handsome. What the hell am I saying?
"If I date Torres, don't complain, okay? You said no interference in love lives, so fine. You stay with Jean, and I'll be with Torres!"
"Do you think he'll take you seriously? He's a womanizer!"
His annoyance was clear, his cheeks flushed. He looked so cute when he was mad.
"Of course, Torres likes women because he's a man," I said with a poker face.
He suddenly got off the bed, standing tall above me. I had to look up at him. He was really pissed off, and if he was going to kill me now, please pray for my soul.
"Are you saying I'm not a man?" he asked with a poker face.
I paused.
"Did I say that? You turn everything into logic. You've been consumed by codes."
I stood up as well, turning my back on him. It was exhausting arguing with him. I just wanted a date, and he was being difficult.
"Come down when you feel like it."
"Tsk," he responded, then threw something at my head. It felt like a pillow.
I closed my eyes.
Calm down. He has a wound. You might end up killing him. Stay calm.
I sighed, leaving the room before I could turn back and punch him in the face.
But before I got far, I heard him shout, "Don't you dare date him!"
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