Chance • {Dominic Sherwood; 1}

010. don't have to

tw: blood

Dom knocked on the door of Annabelle's apartment heavily, concerned about the fact that she hadn't said anything over the phone in a long while as he'd been driving over. She didn't answer the door, so he tried the knob, finding it unlocked.

He stepped inside the apartment, calling her name. A small noise came from deep inside somewhere and he stripped off his leather jacket, tossing it and his keys onto the couch as he passed through to the bedroom.

He stepped slowly into the on-suite bathroom, bracing himself for what he knew he was about to see. She'd been right when she'd said there was blood all over; there were bloody handprints covering almost all of the white surfaces of the room.

"Annabelle?" he said her name quietly, rushing to where she was laying in a small heap on the floor. He pulled her quickly and easily into his lap and she looked up at him, her eyes looking far away and empty.

"Dominic," she whispered his name, her voice raw. She stared into his eyes, momentarily surprised by how beautiful they were. His longish hair was unstyled and looked soft. Without really thinking about it, she reached up and took a strand of it between her fingers, confirming her softness theory. She then ran the back of her hand over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble as it bristled her.

"We need to get you to the hospital," he told her, preparing to lift her.

"No, I... it's not even bleeding anymore, look," she said, gesturing to the spot on her thigh that she'd sliced open. Sure enough, there was no more blood coming from it and she'd even roughly bandaged it.

"I'll take your word on it right now, but if it starts bleeding again, we're going," he told her, his voice firm. She looked up at him and nodded weakly, the thought striking her that she desperately wished they'd met for the first time for real in very different circumstances. "Where is the blade?" he asked her, and she had to think about it and then pointed to the cupboard under the sink. He gently wriggled out from underneath her, going to the cupboard and wrapping the blade tightly in toilet tissue before tossing it in the trash can.

"You don't have to babysit me, Dom," she said quietly, her head still feeling very foggy.

"I'm not going anywhere. You have no idea what you took?" he asked her, almost discarding her statement altogether. She shook her head and he studied her, looking into her eyes. "Do you still feel loopy?" he asked, and she nodded slowly, clutching her head.

"You... don't have to...-" she started, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I know I don't have to, but I'm going to. D'you mind if I help get you changed? You're covered in blood," he said, and she glanced down at her clothes to see that he was right.

She nodded slowly, grabbing onto his arm and standing shakily. He held her steady as they walked into the bedroom. She pointed him in the direction of her clothes and he pulled things out. She turned away from him and took off the soiled garments. He helped her slip into the clean t-shirt and sweatpants, making her sit on the edge of the bed so that he could properly clean and bandage her cut first.

Then, he tucked her gently into her bed, bringing her a glass of water and making her drink the whole thing down before he'd let her sleep. Disoriented by lack of sleep and whatever drug she'd taken, she was asleep in almost no time.