Turning down the volume on the TV, I glance over at Tyler. He looks peaceful as he sleeps and I'm thankful that I don't have to see his face creased in pain anymore. I cringe as I stare at his injuries. His eye is swollen shut and he's covered in red marks that will surely turn into large, painful bruises.

The past hour feels completely surreal.

I walk into the kitchen and look at the dining table, feeling a little sick as I see the drops of blood covering the floor and the side of the table. I remind myself to make sure the house is completely spotless by the time my dad shows up and that all traces of blood—and Tyler—are well out of the house.

I head into the foyer and grab my school bag which is hanging off the end of the banister. Reaching my hand in, I pick out my phone and press the main button. The screen lights up and shines into my eyes, making them sting. I squint and turn the brightness down immediately.

Most of the lights are off, apart from a lamp in the sitting room where Tyler sleeps, and the main light in the kitchen that flares out to me as I stand in the darkness by the front door. I look through my messages and then head straight to Tally's number.

I press the little green 'talk' button.

The phone rings through the silence and I'm thankful that Tyler fell asleep with the television on, so he can't hear me talking.

Tally answers on the fifth ring. "Why are you ringing me? You've never called me before. You know I don't answer them."

"What the hell were you thinking?" I hiss quietly, turning my back to Tyler and hunching in on myself, trying to block my voice from his ears.

"I see that you've reached the land of love and my plan has worked," Tally says and I can just picture that suggestive smile on her face.

"You gave Tyler my address?" I ask with disbelief. "You gave a random stranger my address?"

"He's not a stranger, Franny," she huffs. "He sits behind you in class. That's no stranger."

"We've never spoken before!" I say.

"You were talking in history!" Tally fires back. "And I could sense the chemistry. It was running like a damn waterfall. And don't you even think that I missed the tension rising between you two."

"Tension?" I splutter.

"Hell yeah," Tally snorts. "There was so much tension I felt like I was going to spontaneously implode!"

"Were we in the same room or was this all in your head?" I ask. "There was no tension and there was no chemistry. We spoke about two words to each other, so it isn't even classed as a complete conversation."

Tally sighs and I hear her shuffling on the other end of the line. I take this time to turn and check on Tyler but he's hasn't moved at all, and his chest rises up and down slowly from his breathing. The bag of ice that I gave him is still in his grasp, hanging limply from the tips of his fingers.

"There was tension there, Franny," Tally says again. "Don't even try and give me some crap about me being crazy. I'm the doctor of love, honey, I know what tension is when I see it."

"Love?" I gasp out and realize how loud I've become and quieten down immediately. "You can't even hold a damn boyfriend!"

"Then I guess it helps that I have the option of a girl too, then!"

I choke on a laugh and put my hand over my mouth. "Tally." I grin. "Oh my god."

She chuckles on the other end. "So . . . he actually went all the way to your house to give you homework?"

I look back over at Tyler and then down at the drops of blood that stain the floor at my feet. "Um, yeah. Yeah, he did."

"He's a keeper," she says, and I smile a little. "Is he still there?"

"No," I say. "He just left."

"Did he stay long?" Tally asks. "Did you have a good time?"

"We talked." And I let him bleed all over the floor, poured peroxide over his cut so he was in immense pain and then bandaged him up before sharing a friendly pizza and letting him stay the night. "Yeah . . . just talked."

"Really?" Tally sighs. "I offer you the perfect opportunity to finally communicate with a male and you end up just talking?"

"Isn't that what communicating is?" I mutter.

"Franny for once just try speaking my language. Body language."

"Oh, ew, Tally, no."

"See? You're totally a prude."

I move the phone away and frown down at it. Am I a prude for not jumping the first guy that walks into my house? If Tally only knew he had limped in here bleeding almost to death . . .

"I don't speak your language, Tal," I say.

"I can tell," she laughs. "Do you want me to come over? I'm bored shitless."

I feel panicky all of a sudden and quickly turn Tally's offer down. "Um . . . my dad doesn't want anyone over today. He's tired."

"Got it," Tally says. "Alright, well, I better go. See you tomorrow."

"See you," I say. "Bye."

I drop my phone back into my bag. Walking back into the sitting room, I stop beside Tyler's head, reaching down to the table to grab the remote. I pick it up and turn the volume down further when a hand grabs my wrist, the grip cold and like iron.

Startled, I look down to catch Tyler's frenzied eyes looking at me. He's sweating and shaking and his grip on my wrist turns almost painful. I stay calm and take a deep breath and his eyes flick back and forth.

"It's me," I whisper. "Tyler . . . it's Franny."

I watch his neck move as he gulps, and then stare back at his eyes that blink uncontrollably.

"It's Franny." I slowly crouch down until my knees hit the floor and I'm level with Tyler's gaze. I place my hand on top of his own that painfully grips my wrist. "Just me."

His hand is cold beneath mine. His skin is rough and I feel the scabs along his knuckles. I look at his hands and I see the red marks against his pale skin.

"How did you get them?" I ask, indicating the red marks.

I look back at Tyler's face and his eyes are trained on me. He's suddenly like an animal—a crazed, wild animal that could pounce and tear my throat out any minute.

"Fight," he says.

"You fight a lot." He knows it isn't a question but he gives me one solid nod. "But not as bad as today."

He nods again. "Not as bad as today."

"What made it different this time?" I ask quietly.

He's silent for a moment and his hand moves out from under mine, his hold on my wrist releasing. "I didn't know I would be fighting."

I don't know what to say and instead feel stupid just kneeling on the floor beside him. I get up and move back until I'm a few feet away from him. I reach down and pick up the plate and the pizza box.

"You didn't sleep for very long," I comment.

He gives me that stare that I hate. It's the same look he gave me when I turned to look at him in history. It's as if with just one look, he knows everything. I gulp and grip the plates harder. The heat in the room doesn't help when I feel my skin warm around my neck and cheeks. I don't know why I'm blushing or why I blush even harder when I see Tyler's lips form a little smirk.

"Something woke me up," he murmurs, so quietly that I almost didn't hear him.

"It wasn't . . . me, was it?" I ask.

He just smiles and doesn't say anything, so I sigh and turn around, walking into the kitchen and dumping the plates in the sink and the box on the counter. I stop at the dining table on my way back and think of ways I can try to get the blood off. I head back round through the sitting room to get to the cupboard where the towels are kept and as I do, Tyler calls out to me.

"Oh yeah, Franny?" he says and I glance behind me to see him looking at me.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Say hi to Tally for me."

***

When I wake up, the sun is already pouring in through the small gap in the blinds and pressing down onto the side of my face. My back and neck ache as I sit upright on the armchair where I'd fallen asleep.

I wrap my hand around the side of my neck and wince, turning my head from side to side in some pitiful attempt to release the tension. I look over at the couch beside me and my heart stutters when I see Tyler lounging across the cushion, eyes closed. I panic but then realize why he's here and slowly begin to calm down again.

I stand up, still rubbing the side of my neck, and walk to his sleeping body. His face looks even worse than last night. The red marks look dirtier and there's a faint discoloration, the beginning of a bruise blossoming across his marred skin.

Reaching over him, I pick up the pack of ice which is now sitting on his bare chest. The contents are melted and it's now a bag of warm water. I pick up the towel from the floor and walk to the kitchen, dumping the melted ice into the sink and throwing the towel into the wash basket.

I look at the dried blood on the floor and feel slightly queasy. Looking at the oven I see that it's six in the morning and my dad is nowhere in sight. But he will be soon. I use this time to quickly get another towel and dampen it with water. I wash away the droplets of blood and then the large puddle on top of the table. When it's all off, the towel is covered in blood and I place it in the wash basket.

I should probably use some sort of disinfectant or soap. I open the cupboard under the sink, grab the bottle of detergent, and pour it over the area where the blood had been. I scrub away at the floor and the top of the table, making the liquid turn into a foamy consistency. Bringing over a damp towel, I wipe it all away, making sure that the floor isn't sticky or that it shows that I've been cleaning it up.

By the time I'm done there are four towels in the wash basket—some bloodied and some soapy. I wipe my forearm over my forehead and walk back into the sitting room, leaning against the wall and looking at the top of Tyler's head that peeks out over the edge of the couch.

There is no more evidence of him ever being here apart from his body lying there. I walk over and regret having to do it, but I press my hand against his shoulder and shake it gently. "Tyler," I whisper. "Wake up."

His face creases up and then his eyes open. I frown when he struggles to fully open his swollen right eye. He blinks a few times before clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. "Damn, that hurts."

"Sorry, I had to wake you," I say. "My dad could come back any second."

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Six," I answer and he looks at me in disbelief.

"Your dad isn't back yet?"

I shrug. "He's fine."

"I didn't ask if he was fine," Tyler says and pushes himself up to a sitting position. I look down at his bandaged side and see a streak of red run through the white wrapping.

"You're bleeding," I say and reach forward, putting a finger on the edge of the bandage. I see his bag on the floor beside me and I open it, grabbing the first aid kit and putting it on the coffee table behind me. "I'll re-wrap it."

Tyler nods after a moment and sweeps his legs around so I can pull the bandage off his body. The wrapping is a little bloody but nothing too bad. When I finally get it all off, I see his cut. It's not bleeding and although it hasn't exactly healed yet, it's better than it was.

"I still think you should have got stitches," I murmur.

"You're the one that didn't call an ambulance," he says.

I look at him with narrowed eyes. "You didn't want your parents to see you. You would hardly let me take you to a hospital."

Tyler smiles a little and nods. "You're not as stupid as I thought."

I pick up the roll of bandages and turn around with a raised eyebrow. "You thought I was stupid?"

"Academically," he explains. "Maybe you're smarter in a different way."

"Is that a compliment?" I smile with amusement.

"Closest you'll get."

I begin to wrap the bandage around his waist and smile. "I'll take that."

When the bandage is fastened and secure, I stand back up and pack the first aid kit away, tucking it into his bag. Tyler still sits on the couch for a moment and then sighs, running a hand roughly down his face, flinching.

"Going to have to remember that my eye's fucked," he mutters.

"I can give you another bag of ice, just to help," I say.

He nods his thanks and I go over to fill up a plastic bag with ice cubes. When I come back to the sitting room, Tyler is standing up with his bag over his shoulder. He takes the ice from me and nods again.

"Thanks," he says, and I smile a little. "And thank you again for . . . helping me. You didn't have to."

I shrug. "Wasn't that bad. I got free pizza."

Tyler chuckles. "Yeah, that wasn't so bad."

His smile lingers and he looks at me, nodding slowly. "Your dad will be here soon. I'll go."

"You sure you're okay walking back down? What if the cut opens and starts bleeding?"

"I have to eventually leave," he points out, and I blush a little.

"Right, sorry."

Tyler walks towards the door and I walk to the dining table, grabbing his shirt and passing it to him. He gently puts on the bloody shirt, careful of the cut in case it opens up again.

"What are you going to tell your parents?" I ask.

His hand is on the door handle and he slides his fingers over the lock, turning it quietly.

"Some bullshit about being beaten up in an alley. Bye, Franny."

He opens the door and hikes the bag further up on his shoulder, his other hand pressed to the side where the cut is.

"Bye," I breathe out and when the door finally shuts, I let out a long sigh.

The house is quiet now and I can hear every little creak and churn of the building much louder. My own thoughts feel like they're screaming at me instead of just whispering in the background. But as I walk around the house, finishing cleaning up the place, I see little things that remind me that Tyler was just here. And in a way, it feels like he still is here.

It's nice.

I feel less lonely now.