The first time I met Onyx, I pulled a bullet from his abdomen. He didn’t wear his suit that night, or at least not the top. A black hoodie had taken its place. He was injured, he was bleeding, in this exact spot, enough to leave a stain. I clutched Alex’s hoodie to my chest, my hand running over the stain inside. It hadn’t come out in the wash, just as I had predicted. Blood stains are hard to get out of clothes.
My dad peeked his head into my bedroom, checking on me for the third time since I’d fainted in the kitchen. Over dinner, he’d asked me multiple times if I was feeling okay and although I repeatedly said yes, I wasn’t sure if he believed me. “Still okay dad,” I smiled to him, but my accelerated heart rate definitely was saying I wasn’t. The second the door closed, I jumped up fro
