Skin to Skin Ch. 04

'What happened to you?'

We slowly made our way to the back door. I helped him step inside of the house and den. I guided Malachi across to the other side of the room, where my black leather couch was located. I helped him sit down, he let out a trembling groan. Once I was relieved of his weight, my neck and shoulders screamed out in pleasure.

"Do you want anything to drink?" I asked him as I straightened upright.

"Just water," he grunted.

"Okay."

I walked away from the couch and through the den to enter into the 'open kitchen'. In the kitchen, fetched Malachi a glass of cool water. I returned to his side a few minutes later and I noticed he held an orange-colored pill bottle in his hands. His thick and long fingers were fumbling with the bottle's cap.

"What are those?" I asked him as I pointed to his pill bottle.

He ignored me and continued to try to open the bottle. I sat down on the couch and watched him. I watched Malachi make a few more attempts and then snatched the bottle out of his hands. I gave him the glass of water. He held the glass with a shaky hand.

"Hold onto the glass..." I observed the bottle that was in my right hand. I noticed that there were eight white pills inside of the plastic vial. There was a label. I twirled the bottle inside of my hand and read the words that were on the label. The pills were buprenorphine and there was an instruction for the person to eat food prior to ingesting the pills.

'Why is he taking these painkillers?' I wondered.

I glanced over to Malachi. I believed that he was glaring at me. But I couldn't see his face because he was still wearing his hood. With my left hand, I reached out to touch his hood. He jerked his head backwards and away from my probing hand.

"Malachi, let me see your face," I asked him.

"No," he grunted.

"Malachi, let me see your face please."

He didn't say anything to me. He moved his head closer to my hand. He moved his head until my hand touched his skull. I knew that this peculiar action was his way of asking me to remove the hood. I grabbed the hem of the hood in between my index and middle fingers. My gut instinct told me that I was going to see something horrible. My hand trembled as I lifted the hood away from his face.

The first bit of skin that I viewed was his chin. I saw that his chin was covered with red stubble. His full lips were the second thing I saw as I lifted the hood. His lips were slightly discolored. The third thing that I saw was his bruised right cheek and then there was his nostril. His left nostril had a few stitches. I lifted the hood up and saw how badly his face appeared. His entire right face was covered with a multi-colored bruise. The bruise was purple, dark blue, yellowish and slightly red. The bridge of his nose had a few stitches. On his forehead, there was a hideous scar and it was closed by numerous black stitches. His right eye was swollen to the point where it was forcibly closed. The skin under left was slightly swollen and bruised. His pale blonde hair was stained with dried blood.

"Oh," I gasped before I covered my agape mouth with both of my hands. My nausea rose to a dangerous height and caused my throat to constrict. I retched into my hands. I managed to make it to the kitchen's sink before I could make a nasty mess with my vomit. I relieved the discomfort that was inside of my stomach by spewing the contents into the sink. I made a few dry heaves before I was able to stop. I noticed that my hand was in the sink and was covered with my vomit. "Shit," I groaned. I used my left hand, the clean one, to turn on the water. I washed my dirty hand, and then used my hands as a cup to store water as I cleaned out my mouth.

Once I gathered my composure, I stared out of the small rectangle-shaped window above the sink. I stared at my backyard. I wasn't looking for anything in particular. I wanted to avoid looking at Malachi's battered, nausea-inducing face. I didn't know how long I was staring out of the window, but I knew that a significant amount of time had passed because I heard Malachi speak.

"I'm going to leave."

I turned away from the window and stared at Malachi. He was struggling to get up from the couch. I quickly made my way over to where he was seated. I invaded his personal space and touched his thick right shoulder.

"No, I don't want you to leave, Malachi," I told him.

His mangled face tilted up and his grey eye stared at me. I believed his eye looked dull and weak. His eye didn't hold that predatory gleam I first saw on the night we had sex.

Malachi stared at me for a few more seconds before he made his second move. He had chosen to relax in his seat and to rest the back of his head on the couch's back. His face was facing the ceiling, yet his eye was focused on me. My eyes drifted down to his hands. I saw that he was still holding the bottle of buprenorphine. I kneeled in front of him. I grabbed the pill bottle from his right hand. I unlocked the cap from the bottle.

"Malachi..." I said softly while I stuck two of my fingers into the bottle. "Did you eat anything?" I asked, as I snatched a pill in between my index and middle fingers. "Mmm, did you eat anything, hun?" I removed the pill from the bottle. I didn't hear an answer from him. "Well, I am going to assume that you didn't eat, so I am not going to give you any pills until you do," I explained to him.

I rose to my feet and left the den again. Entering the kitchen and going to the cupboards over the stove. I opened the cupboard of canned goods. I took out a can of chicken stock to heat it up. During the process, I occasionally glanced over my shoulder at Malachi to make sure he was still sitting there. He was still seated. He stared up at my ceiling. I didn't know if he was awake or not.

Once his meal was ready, I placed the steaming hot soup into a bowl. I fetched a spoon and a few napkins before I made my way over to Malachi. "Here you go," I announced as I held out the bowl of soup. Malachi didn't move at first, but eventually he sat upright. His hands clasped onto the bowl. I slipped the spoon into the soup.

"Take your time with that soup. It's hot and plus you have an empty stomach," I notified him.

I stood in front of Malachi until I saw the hulking man take his first bite. I muttered, 'I'll be right back' and walked out of the den. I entered the dark corridor that led to the living room, the main bathroom and the three bedrooms. I pressed down on the light switch mounted on the left wall outside the den's entryway. The corridor was showered with light. I made a right turn in the hallway and walked to the end, where I was met by the door that led to the master bedroom, my bedroom. I entered the bedroom and turned on the nightstands' lamp. In the bedroom, I changed the bedding on my king-sized bed. Before I left the den, I already decided that Malachi was going to sleep in my bed. I used old bed linen for the mattress.

When I returned to the den, twenty minutes later, I found Malachi missing from the couch. I was about to panic, but I heard the sound of rushing water. I focused on the large form that in the kitchen, becoming filled with instant relief. He stood in front of the sink as he washed the bowl.

"You..."

His body jolted as the first word left my mouth. A blood-freezing, low groan erupted from his body. I noticed his hands dropped the bowl in the sink. His dripping wet hands touched at his stomach.

"What's wrong with your stomach?" I asked him. Then I remembered the moment when I saw Malachi stand on my deck. At the time, his arm was pressed against his stomach. I pulled this out of my memory bank and I stared at Malachi. "Tell me—No—Show me what is wrong with your stomach." I watched his stormy grey eye glare at me. I knew that his eye was trying to intimidate me. But I stood my ground. "Malachi, show me your god-damn stomach please." I took a few steps closer to him. His eye still stared at me. "Do you want a pill? If so, let me see your stomach."

I saw his hands removed themselves from his stomach. His right finger reached up to the collar of his jacket, where the zipper rested. His fingers pulled the zipper down. I didn't see anything at first. All I saw was a sliver of pale white skin. Then he pulled the flaps of his jacket away from his body. The sight that greeted me was frightening and nauseated. His chest and his stomach were decorated with scars, bruises and cuts. There were three deep lacerations: one laceration was across his chest, one laceration was underneath his chest and the third one was across his lower stomach. Each laceration was treated with staples. With the limited medical expertise that I had, I knew that the administrator was an amateur when it came to the staples' application. Some parts of the lacerations held too many staples and some were barely hanging on. His shoulders and his ribs held thin cuts that were minor. A nasty bruise covered his left pectoral and on the right side of his ribs. He looked like he should've been a part of a horror movie.

My mind was filled with darkness as I surveyed his injuries. I assume that it was a case of shock and horror that consumed me. My hearing was also affected. I couldn't hear anything. All I heard was a bland and dull buzzing in my ear canals. I had to turn away from the sight. I stared at the wall. This action seemed to have done the trick because my ability to think had returned. But, it was definitely a feat.

'Why? Why? Why?' I murmured repeatedly inside of my head.

"Malachi, who did this to you?" I asked him, with my voice trembling. He didn't say anything. "Who did this to you?" He remained silent. His refusal to answer my question caused my ire to raise. "Please answer my question," I demanded with a stern tone of voice. I sniffed. "Malachi, did you...?" I sighed. "A woman and her two young kids were attacked by a gang of skin-heads on Friday morning. This happened in Manhattan..." I stared into his eye. "...in the morning. Did you have anything to do with that?" He didn't say anything, so I continued speaking. "Did you know that two of those thugs were shot by the police? One was killed by the cops and the other was wounded..." I walked closer to Malachi. "...The one that was killed was a woman. They stated that she could've been a sixteen year-old girl. Did you know her?" I remained focused on his unscathed eye. I hoped that I could see some emotion in his eye. Once I was close enough to him, I smelled blood. I tore my attention away from his face and I gazed down at his torso. "Who fixed you up, Malachi?"

My mind conjured up scenarios of Malachi being tortured in a dimly-lit dungeon. A strong shudder erupted inside of my body and it left my hands numb. Then, in the back of my mind, I heard 'Four steps backward'. It sounded like a taunt.

With my vision blurry due to the unshed tears, I continued to stare at his torso. "Please, just tell me something!" I groaned. "You're here for a reason! You could've gone over to your mom's house or to Lynn's place or even to a fucking hospital! Instead you're here, so obviously, you want my help! So fucking tell me!"

The den was then filled with the sound of the sink's running water. He didn't speak and I was tired of being the only one. I stared at his tortured torso for a minute and then I buried my face inside of my hands. 'Got-damned it, just have him stay the night and then toss him out in the morning. I can't help him and he doesn't want me to help him,' I silently concluded.

"Is..."

I believed that I imagined Malachi speaking to me.

"Is the woman alive?"

I peeled my hands away from my face and I glanced at his battered mug. His left eye was gazing down at me.

"What woman?" I asked him.

"The woman with the kids," his lips grunted. "Did she die on Friday?"

The muscles in my stomach painfully tightened up while my throat constricted. A strong chill clung to my skin. I was filled with dread. 'HE WAS THERE! HE WAS THERE! HE WAS THERE!' my brain screamed. To answer his inquiry, I simply shook my head while I stared up at him with widened eyes. I gasped when I tried to speak. I grabbed at my throat. "I...She survived," I gasped. "She-She-She was bruised and she had a concussion. She stayed in the hospital for one night," I informed him.

"What about her kids?"

"They were fine," I told him. "They're going to be alright."

"What do you know about the man who was sent to the hospital?" he inquired.

"Nothing, they only said he was in his early-twenties," I told him.

'He knows them. I know it. He knows them. He was there. He was there.'

I decided to ask him. "Did you kill those two people?" I ran my fingers through my thick, curly hair. "Why did you do it?"

"Because they deserved it," he told me, so nonchalantly.

I wasn't expecting for Malachi to answer me. He had been 'stone walling' me so far. I took advantage of his newfound source of honesty. I asked, "So you're the one who carried that woman to safety?"

I watched his jaw twitch and his nostrils flared. "Yeah," he growled.

"What happened to you after you left the family in their car?"

His jaw twitched again. He released a groan. "I need that pill," he told me. I noticed his hands were trembling and were hovering over his wounded chest. "Can I get--?"

'Shit, I forgot!'

I glanced up at his face. "Oh shit, I forgot; I'm sorry," I told him.

I quickly made my way over to the stove. I left the pill bottle on the counter space next to the stove, leaving a pair of pills on the counter. I grabbed the pills and filled another glass with lukewarm water. With the glass in my right hand and the pills in my other hand, I traveled back to where Malachi stood. I gave him the pills and the glass, he quickly ingested the pills and drained the glass of water.

I grabbed his hand and guided him over to the couch. I pointed to the couch's cushions. It was my way of telling him to sit down. Malachi gingerly sat down on the couch. With every bit of movement, he grunted or groaned in pain. With every grunt or groan, I felt more and more sympathy for him. Once he leaned against the back of the couch, he released a groan expressing his relief.

"Malachi, please tell me what happened to you," I asked him and didn't even try to mask my pleading. He remained silent. "Tell me what happened after you left that family alone."

Malachi's head started to sway side-to-side in a sluggish manner. It was as if he was fighting to stay awake. After a few seconds of head movement, he finally stared at me. I gazed into his grey eye to see if he was focused.

"I can't go back," his voice slurred. "I can't." Then his mouth opened and a yawn clumsily fell out. He was about to stretch his arms but he halted his movements. I assumed he must've remembered his injuries. He placed his hands on the couch's cushions and relaxed. His eye focused on my face. "I killed two of my compatriots. I can't go back now." His voice sounded forlorn.

"Why you can't go back?" I asked him.

"I killed them. I did go back and it was too late. They were there and they were waiting for me. Damn, the motherfucker was there and he waited for me. They punished me."

'His ass is most definitely high right now,' I concluded as I watched him nod off and then wake up.

When he was awake again, I asked him, "Who punished you?"

Malachi turned his attention towards the direction of the back door. He gazed for a minute before responding. "They punished me," he stated with a soft tone of voice. He leaned the back of his head against the couch. He stared at my ceiling for a few seconds and then his eye closed. I continued to stare at him for a few seconds.

I gazed at the torn-up, battered and large piece of meat that was Malachi Patrick. I listened to his soft snores. As I sat on the couch, I tried to disregard the need I had. I wanted to wrap my arms around his body and give him an embrace. I wanted to plant my lips onto his own and kiss every piece of unharmed skin that was on his face. I wished that I could tell this broken man that I loved him and was possibly in love with him. I wanted to tell Malachi that his family loved him. I also wanted to tell him that he was a dumb asshole for doing the illegal shit he was committing. I wanted to hit him, but I wanted to make love to him as well.

'Four steps backwards,' I concluded.

I gave Malachi one more minute of my attention before I rose from my couch. "Yeah, I have definitely taken four more steps backward," I muttered and rose from my seat. I walked over to the back door and fetched the bundle of bags that were lying on the linoleum floor. I also picked up my small clutch bag as well. With the plastic shopping bags being held in my left hand, I dug through the purse's contents with my right hand. I found my cell phone and plucked it out of the bag. I dropped the purse onto the table as well as my other bags. I fiddled with my cell phone until I reached the desire feature: the directory for the contacts. I had scrolled through the list of names until I came across my friend's name. I used the phone's cursor to press on 'Jessie'. The phone immediately called up my friend's cell phone. I pressed my phone's ear piece to my left ear and was greeted by the sound of ringing. I listened to eight rings before the automated voice mail greeting kicked in.

"Yo, this is Jessie. You know what to do after the beep," was the greeting. Then I heard the sound of a loud beeping noise.

"Hey Jessie, it's me, Chloe. The reason I am calling is because I really need your help. I really-really-really-really-really need your help, Jess. I have a friend who is injured. He doesn't want to go to a hospital and he refuses to tell me what happened to him. He has these cuts on his torso and on his stomach. They look real horrible. Um, please call me back. I am home, so you can call me at home," I recorded into my friend's voicemail.

"What an unbelievable night," I uttered to the phone.

I disconnected the call and then I chucked my phone onto the tabletop. I glared across the table to the sleeping, hulking giant who was seated on the couch. He was still asleep. His usual handsome face held a serene expression. He appeared to be at peace. His sleeping demeanor reminded me of the twelve year-old Malachi that was captured in that photo taken over ten years ago. Memories of that smiling and happy Malachi flashed through my mind as I stared at him. I felt the thin emotional wall I had managed to build up crumble.

Suddenly the den was filled with the musical ringtone of "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies". I glanced over at my cell phone. "Jessie" was etched onto the small, square-shaped screen that was on the lid of my flip phone. I picked up the phone and quickly answered the call.

"Hey," I said into the phone. I noticed that my voice was weak. It trembled. It perfectly matched my emotional stability.

"Hey, what's up, buddy?" Jessie's bubbly voice greeted me, as she performed her favorite Pauley Shore's "The Weasel" impersonation. "How's it going?"

There was something in that question made me want to express my inner turmoil. "Hey, what's up Lo?" she asked.

"I really need your help," I told her. "I have a friend who really needs your help." Once I heard my shaky voice, I wanted to give into the sorrow and fear. But, I knew that this wasn't the time.

"Okay, what's wrong with her?" Jessie inquired.

"It's a guy. He's been beaten up pretty bad. He has three cuts on his chest and they are deep ones—

"Then he needs to go to a hospital. He'll probably get some stitches—

"No, they were already sealed up, but whoever did them, did a shitty job. And they look like they are going to come apart soon."

"How bad are the scars?" she asked me.

"They are big. They start from one end and they are spread across his chest and they go on to the other side. They were closed with staples. He also has a lot of nasty looking bruises too."