Emma's POV

I knew I'd done it this time.
Way to go, Wells.
We just stared at each other. His look of shocked disbelief was one of the most horrendous things I'd ever seen, but I tried to convince myself I didn't care. A wave of reckless abandon ran through me, settling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't going to cry. I was going to ride this thing out until he kicked me out so I could die.
My deep blue eyes narrowed.
'Emma?' His arms had dropped to his sides, his jaw swung open slightly. I pulled off the hoodie. I was in one of his tank tops, showing how my upper arms had suffered too. My inner wrists and forearms still pumped the toxic stuff out of me. Toxic because it kept me alive. He walked over, and pressed his hand against my shoulder. My resolve nearly softened at his warm touch, but I bit my lip.
Don't cry don't cry don't cry.
He took me through not to his ensuite, but to the bigger bathroom with a massive freestanding bath in the center. He sat me on the side and pulled a first aid kit from the cupboard, after rummaging through. He gestured me to hold my arms out, and he knelt down. His head was level with mine, but he was looking insistently down. He gently cleaned my left arm, and I looked where his gentle fingers touched, as if they left a mark. He pressed each cut until they stopped bleeding, and then moved onto the next. I didn't realize how many times I'd cut until he cleaned each wound. He frowned a little at my right arm, as the cuts were a little deeper there. He still waited until the blood stopped flowing, sprayed them both with a strange antiseptic, and dressed both my arms in cotton pads and expertly tied bandages. He didn't look up at me, not once. He just took me, leading me with a gentle press on my back, to the sink and washed the blood off my hands for me. He took me through to the living room. He said he'd bought me clothes, but I wasn't expecting the pink Victoria's Secret bag. He passed me it, and a pair of jeans, and a MCR shirt. It wasn't cold, and there was no need for me to hide my arms now.
It was like we were both numb, and I knew he cared, but the sterile kind of care, the kind without emotion.

Again, he led me through to his room.
'Pass me your old clothes. And that blade. Now.'
It was an order, barked without a hint of emotional attachment, just tiredness, as if he was sick of me. I passed the garments to him, everything I had worn in his home except the clothes I wore. I passed him the stained blade. As soon as the silver of metal was in his hand, he promptly walked over to his bathroom. I heard a flush. He looked at the clothes in the arms, then at me.
'And the rest. Here.'
I flushed as I stripped and saw his smirk. It disappeared as soon as he caught my glance though, like he didn't want me to know I meant anything to him. Soon I was in my filthy underwear; I'd worn them for two weeks on the run.
'Problem?' He said, as I hesitated. I blushed again.
'No.' I turned my back and looked in the bag he bought me. A pair of panties, sky blue with white lace trimming the sides, and a flattering bra. I wondered how he knew my size, or if they would fit at all. I changed my bra first, then my panties. He took the old ones from me and walked back to his spot in the room. I pulled on the rest of the outfit he arranged. He put my dirty clothes down a chute, which I assumed led to a laundry room of some sort.
'Come with me.' He took me to the living room, and sat me in an uncomfortable chair angled towards the window. He spun it to face its twin, and he sat in the other chair. This was it. He was going to kick me out.

Gerard's POV

I looked into those gorgeous eyes for the first time since I'd seen those horrific scars. It's okay, I told myself. She'll get better. I wasn't going to let her out of my sight again in a hurry, that was for sure.
'I don't wanna know why, or how long you've been doing this. I don't wanna kick you out, or punish you, or take you to hospital, although I should.' Her shoulders deflated a little: relief. Good.
'I want you to get better. So you're going to promise me that you will never, and I mean never, do this to yourself again. Do you understand?'
She shrugged.
'I'm not anything special, so why should it matter?' Her voice wavered a little. Like she was putting up these walls but I was breaking them down.
'Not anything special? Goddammit, you are everything special to me.' I meant it. My Chemical Romance was great, Frank was great, but Emma? Emma would be the one thing that would inspire me, awe me, love me until I did something stupid to make her run away. She couldn't see that, but I could. Even after the one night she'd spent here, after I'd discovered just how damaged she was, I knew from the way my blood ran cold as I saw hers pouring out of her that I cared about her more than I'd ever cared about anyone, ever.
'I'm not beautiful, or talented, or funny, or kind. I'm the opposite of all three.'
I didn't feel responsible for what happened next; it was to prove something to her more than anything. A low growl involuntarily came from my throat. I stood up, slid one arm round her waist, one on the back of the chair, and kissed her, long and deep. She was surprised, and her soft lips took a second to respond, then she began to mover her lips with mine, allowing my tongue to explore the crevices of her lovely mouth. I took my mouth away from hers, though my face remained close to hers. I looked straight into those great aquamarine orbs.
'Do you understand?'
'Yes.' She matched my stare, then put her hands on my neck and pulled me in. I quickly put one arm around her ass, one on her back, and pulled her up. She wrapped her legs around the tops of my hips, and kissed me back.
Now I could never let her go.

Notes