Chapter 3
1294 Words
Aria
“Let me take you to the hospital,” I said, already reaching for my phone.
He shook his head. “No hospital.”
I crossed my arms. “Unless you want to lose the arm, that’s a dumb call.”
“I’ve had worse,” he said like it meant nothing. “Just bandage it for me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How do you even know I can do that?”
He smirked, even in pain. “Can you?”
Cocky. But not wrong. “Yeah. Used to be a volunteer nurse.”
“Then that’s all I need.”
“You trust me?” I asked, more out of habit than surprise.
“You’re still standing here, aren’t you?”
Fair.
I sighed. “Fine. My place is nearby. Try not to bleed all over the sidewalk.”
I helped him and kept pace wiith him not because I thought he’d collapse, but because something in me wanted to be close. All of a sudden.
At my apartment, I unlocked the door and let him in. He pulled the hood off, settled onto the couch.
I grabbed the first-aid kit. “Sit still.”
He winced slightly as I peeled back the fabric. The cut was clean but deep. I cleaned it, ignoring the heat of his gaze.
“I should warn you—I’m not a miracle worker. This might hurt.”
“As long as I don’t die,” he muttered.
“Not on my couch, you won’t.”
I wrapped the gauze tight.I’d done this before—too many times. Somewhere along the line, survival had become second nature.
I taught myself enough to pass short-term nursing courses online. I didn’t have a degree or a fancy certificate, but I had drive and that counted for something.
“Not bad,” he said after a pause.
I glanced up. “What?”
“The bandaging. Steady hands.”
“Yeah, for someone that volunteers at a rescue station, it’s normal for me to know how to handle a bandage.”
I volunteer at the local rescue station once or twice a week. Didn't make me any money, but it gave me purpose. A sense that I could still do something good
He gave a slight nod,“Still… not everyone keeps their hands steady when they’re patching up someone bleeding in their living room.”
“Is this your version of flirting? Because heads up—I don’t do casual.”
“Good to know.” His brow lifted. “I don’t do casual too.”
There was a beat of silence. Then he said, “Thank you.”
"You're welcome," I replied, my voice calm despite the way his presence still buzzed beneath my skin.
He looked at me then really looked at me, "The name's Ethan.”
Ethan.
The name echoed in my mind like a bell. It sounded familiar. Like something from a dream I couldn't remember. I tried to pin it to a place, a face, a memory but nothing came. Just a strange flutter in my chest.
So I smiled, even if it was just to ease the tension curling inside my ribs. "Aria," I said softly.
He looked at me, eyes sharp but soft. “You always this calm after near-death situations?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” I deadpanned.
He chuckled. “I owe you.”
“You don’t.”
“Listen, not flirting, but I want to repay the favor. If someone’s messing with you—”
“I told you at the bar,” I cut in. “I don’t do gang favors. I hate drugs. Don’t care what color your jacket is or how noble your crew thinks it is. I don’t get involved.”
“I’m not like them.”
“Sure,” I said coolly. “Everyone says that.”
“Okay…Why don’t we start with what happened between you and that guy at the bar?”
The question caught me off guard.
He is a stranger. But something about the way he asked made it feel like he already knew parts of me I hadn’t shared yet. And maybe that was why, for some strange reason, I answered.
“He’s my ex. He cheated on me. Showed up asking about his stuff.”
Ethan didn’t interrupt. Just waited. “What stuff?” he asked after a beat.
I looked straight at him. “Drugs. He wanted to know if I had anything stashed. Told him I didn’t.”
A short pause, then I added, “I hate drugs.”
I hate drugs—for a reason I didn't like to talk about.
A reason that shaped too much of my life. A tragedy that made my childhood miserable.
That made him tilt his head slightly. Curious. “Why?”
I looked away for a second, chewing the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t ready to hand over my entire life story to him.
“Let’s just say I’ve seen what it does to people. Just like Lucas,” I said, quietly. “That world? I want nothing to do with it.”
Ethan didn’t ask any more questions . He just kept looking at me. “You know…he was the one who sent those guys after me,”
“So you were pulled into something connected to the Ash-9 gang.If they see you as involved, you’re already in danger.”
I wasn’t used to someone else worrying about my safety especially not a guy like him. But I knew he wasn’t wrong. Lucas was reckless. And pissed. That was a dangerous mix.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.
“You don’t have to,” he replied. “Just promise me one thing.”
He held my gaze. “If anything happens—anything—you find me.”
He slipped something from his pocket. A card. “This is only for me. No one else has the number. Keep it close.”
I took it without a word. Not because I trusted him. But because deep down… I knew I might need it.
**
It’s been two days since Lucas showed me exactly who he was. Two days since I kicked him out, dumped his stash, and locked him out of my life.
I’ve been busy. Picking up extra shifts. Restocking the bar. And Ethan? Radio silence.
But every now and then, the image flashes through my mind. Him, bloodied. Standing over those creeps like they didn’t even deserve to breathe. Looking at me like I mattered.
Weird. Annoying. Persistent.
This morning, I got up early. Coffee. Eggs. Silence. I responded to the volunteer group chat and ignored the one message from Lucas begging to talk.
Blocked.
Later that night, one of the girls from work—Anna, maybe Amber, I wasn’t paying attention—asked me to grab a drink.
I almost said no. But I figured one drink wouldn’t kill me.
The place was dim and quiet, and I ordered something light. She went straight for tequila.
“Come on,” she nudged. “Loosen up.”
I wasn’t trying to loosen anything. But I was tired. Tired of being the girl who always had her guard up.
So I took one shot. Just one. That was the mistake.By the second glass, my body felt too warm. Too slow. Something was off. The music blurred. My legs wobbled when I stood.
My breath caught in my throat. Anna was still laughing. But her voice was distant. Like it was coming from underwater. My skin burned. My vision swam. My fingers went numb.
I blinked. Once. Twice. And the floor tilted beneath me. “Shit.” I’m an i***t.
- Writer
