Our Lives Are Shades Of Grey

T w e n t y

   "You don't have to like my friends." Luca pushes, her tone implying something different than her words.

"Then why does it matter what I think?" I argue as she opens the door to her apartment, letting me walk through the doorway in front of her.

"Because I still care what you think of them, I'm just saying you shouldn't feel pressure to lie about liking them."

I sigh as she walks in front of me again, walking to the kitchen. "Fine then, I didn't like them." I admit, "I was intimidated by them like I am with everyone else, but that's not a bad thing."

"I fucking knew it." She mumbles, a victorious tone on her words.

"It wasn't a secret." I point out, "They're your friends Luca, it doesn't matter what I think about them." I say, as she pours herself a glass of water.

"It matters to me, I want you to like them, I want them to like you." She defends, her voice growing a bit louder.

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest, before half whispering a question, "Why are you yelling at me?" She sighs loudly, clearly frustrated with me as she avoids my eyes, "Don't get upset, you won't have to worry about me soon enough."

My words make her draw her eyes from the floor back to meet mine, confusion on her face, "What the fuck does that mean?"

I shrug, feeling weirdly attacked by her words, "Nothing."

"You're not gonna do something to yourself, are you?" She questions in an accusatory tone.

I shake my head defensively, "I just meant that I'm going home the day after tomorrow so you won't need to worry about me." I explain.

"Yeah, whatever." She mumbles, walking out of the room, "I'm gonna go on a walk, I'll see you later." She calls out, her voice somewhat monotone.

I sigh, half out of relief but mostly out of frustration. That's her first thought about me, the second anything goes wrong she thinks I'll just drop everything and kill myself? Cause that's my first idea? I won't think of working through things, I'll just decide to comit suicide after one tiny fight?

I roll my eyes as I grab her undrank glass of water, drinking it to calm myself down. I bite my lip as thoughts swirl around my head. Thoughts of how to prove to her that that's not my first thought. Thoughts of how irritating it is for her to think that. Thoughts of how that might just be the right idea. 

Before I know what I'm doing the glass that was previously in my hand, collides with the metal surface of the fridge, shattering into pieces and falling to the floor.

I clench my jaw at my stupidity as I go to clean up the mess. After searching for a few minutes I find the dustpan, in its spot under the sink. As I crouch down to pick up the glass pieces one in particular catches my eye. It sparkles as the kitchen light shines down onto it.

I bring my fingers to it, daring to touch one edge and finding it sharper than I imagined. Pulling back surprised as I check my index finger, finding the skin ungrazed. I pick up the uneven shard of glass, observing it as I turn it, pinpointing the sharpest edge.

I notice how the glass fits into the curve of my palm as I shut my hand around it, feeling a dull pain as I squeeze my hand tighter. When I release the glass I'm once again surprised to find only a line in the skin, no blood or even a cut.

When I close my hand around it the second time I use my other hand to pull the glass out of my grasp, being met with a familiar but still oddly different stinging pain. This time's different because as I drop the glass to the floor and open my hand, I find a cut stretching the length of my hand. It looks deep, and I feel almost worried as I watch the blood immediately flow from the wound, causing the skin around it to look incredibly fair against the deep crimson.

I turn my head as I watch a large drop of blood roll down to the back of my hand, immediately being joined by another bead of blood, heading down the same stream of red. As the two droplets hit the tiled floor, the noise it creates wakes me out of my daze, making me realize what I've done.

I shake my head, finding it hard not to be mad at myself as I rush to pick up the rest of the glass, being careful this time. I dump the glass out of the dustpan into the garbage can with my good hand, taking my other hand to the sink.

I ignore the stinging sensation as I put my wound under the heavy stream of water, cleaning the nasty cut. The water turns a light red colour as the bleeding doesn't stop. I dicide the job is well enough done, transporting my injured hand to the washroom, using my black sock to wipe the few drops of blood from the crime scene.

I open the medicine cabinet, finding gauze on the top shelf, when I'm about to wrap it up the bathroom door opens and I'm met with Luca's kind dad giving me a questioning look before his eyes land on my hand, "Ouch, how'd you do that?" He questions, walking forward to gently hold my hand as he inspects the cut.

"I accidentally dropped one of your glasses, and cut my hand when I was cleaning up." I say immediately, "Don't worry I can pay you back."

He looks at me as if I'm crazy before stating those exact words, "Don't be crazy, I've broken a fair amount of those glasses, right now I'm more concerned you might need stitches."

"Oh, I don't." I say, grabbing the gaze with my other hand, "Just gonna wrap it up."

"Why don't you listen to the words of a nurse honey, I think you might need a few." He argues.

I swallow thickly before speaking, "I really don't wanna go to the hospital, they'd call my parents and they'll just worry." I explain.

"I think I could put in a few, I'm definitely qualified, but I still think you should tell your parents." He reasons, letting go of my hand.

I nod a bit, "Yeah I'll tell them tonight," No I won't, "But in the meantime I'd really appreciate it if you could stitch it up." I say, giving him a small smile.

He returns the gesture, giving me a tightlipped smile, "Let me grab the first aid kit from my room, you can just sit on the edge of the bathtub." He tells me, turning and walking away a millisecond later.

I look down at the cut on my hand as more blood rushes out. Grabbing toilet paper and pressing it to the gash, I sit down where he told me, waiting patiently.

Within a few minutes he returns through the doorway, holding a white tin box. He flips the toilet seat down sitting in front of me.

He puts the first aid kit on his lap before taking my hand again, I let him do whatever it is nurses do, which I guess is stitches? I expected him to go right in with the stitches and I prepared myself for a fair amount of pain but instead he applies some gel thing to the cut which only stings a bit.

"Numbing gel." He states, answering my silent question, "only takes a couple seconds, then I'll disinfect the cut and put in a few stitches." I nod subconsciously as he lists off the things.

And after a few seconds that's what he does, wiping away any germs with a small sheet of wet paper, sticking a needle in my skin far too many times and then finally putting gauze around my hand.

"And just like that twenty-five stitches." He says, slapping his hands onto his knee.

My eyes widen slightly, "Twenty-five?"

He nods, "It was a large cut, Kristin, when I told you that you needed stitches I meant it." He tells me in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Uh, yeah thank you." I say, standing up after he does.

"So for the next little while you've got to change the gauze on the wound, after a few weeks the stitches should just dissolve and the cut will be closed." He tells me, "If it's not closed or if you pop any of the stitches, you've got to go to the doctor to get it restitched."

I nod a bit, "Do you think it'll scar?" I question.

He nods, smiling reassuringly, "It'll be a nasty scar but now you've got a story for it."

I hear Luca's front door open, making me somewhat panic, how do I keep this from her?