"Natalie," he repeated, her name like velvet on his tongue. He seemed to like the sound of it because he repeated it again, his voice turning low. "Natalie."
Leon Hughes was a mystery masked by bruised cheeks and bleeding knuckles.
He was a wraith...
Leon Hughes was a mystery masked by bruised cheeks and bleeding knuckles.
He was a wraith, a shadow on the walls—sometimes there, sometimes gone. Never set in stone. He showed up when he showed up, with his face bleeding, his shirt torn, his skin blistered.
Natalie never knew when he'd come, but she always let him in.
He hadn't visited in two weeks, and just as Natalie had thought their fleeting friendship was over, he showed up again.
She'd been restocking the school nurse's cupboard, rearranging the bandages and bottles of disinfectant as she did every day after class. The only other people left at school were in sport teams and after school clubs. Even Natalie's mother, the school nurse, was locked away in the neighbouring office, writing her daily reports and stock lists.
The school had turned still.
Which was why, when a knock sounded from the door, gentle and frantic, it caused Natalie to jump.
She paused for a moment, her heart pounding in her throat.
Then all at once, reason rushed into her. She shuffled from the corner of the room, flicking the locks open and tugging the door handle, uttering a silent wish.
First, she saw his eyes—narrowed and glistening brown. Always cold, until they fell to meet her stare, and she felt her stomach flip and her face heat.
Second, she saw his bruises—a dark one on his cheek, a fresh one on his jaw, stark against his pale skin. Blue and red kissing his scarred skin.
Leon Hughes.
Natalie had known who Leon was from the first day he walked into the nurse's office, two months ago. He was the talk of Sierra Grammar—all good looks and no friends. Even the girls from her school gossiped about his attractiveness—his chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones, broad shoulders.
Rumours bounced off sterile white hallways about where he'd gotten his bruises, rumours of underground fighting, motorcycle gangs and alcoholic parents. His bruises had quickly become the centre of attention.
She blinked, slowly, her gaze darting from his cheek to his eyes, to his jaw. Suddenly, her mouth felt very dry.
The sound of Leon clearing his throat snapped her from her daze.
"Can I come in?" he asked in a low drawl, waving a nonchalant hand towards the room.
She didn't have to answer.
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