Diamondback

20: Bloodstains

It just won't go away, will it?

Oliver's been telling me that more and more reward signs were being handed out like candy. Apparently, it's one of the only things that plays on TV nowadays too. The news covers my story (or at least their understanding of my story) daily, interrupting any daytime programs that old folks like to watch. Even the fuckin' president had to make a statement! I would say I'm not too bothered by it, but every knock on my door that I can't recognize as Oliver's has me trembling. Sure, I could just eat any intruders that come my way, but adding more paranoia on top of my already existing paranoia isn't the healthiest thing for my brain to be slaving over.

This is getting way too outta hand. Olly and I need to figure out this human contact thing soon or else we'll both be in deep shit.

Speaking of Olly, his visits with me have been getting shorter and shorter. Ever since that night he spent at my house, he seems to be distancing himself bit by bit each day. I really hope I didn't scare him off with anything I said.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Come on. Dealing with strangers is the last thing I want to do today.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

I sprang up off the couch, scurrying over to the window to see who it was.

Hoo. It's just Olly.

Before I could cross over to the door to open it for him, he swung it open himself. His aura was absolutely frazzled as he stood in the doorway, clutching a flannel around the waist of his white skinny jeans and failing to hold back tears. The purple dye of his black hair sank to only the tips of his curled edges. He looked used and devastated like a once pretty doll that fell into the wrong child's hands.

And he smelled like blood.

Misery and blood.

"Oli-"

"Do you have running water?"

"I-I do. Why do you-"

He scuttled past me and into my bathroom, shutting the door with a pointed slam.

Well, hello to you too.

The sound of the faucet furiously blasting accompanied by choked sobbing could be heard throughout the house. He must not think I can hear him.

It couldn't just be those bullies again. If it was, Oliver knows that I could heal his wounds. He wouldn't try to take care of it on his own. And he looked physically fine. Dishevelled but fine. No broken bones and no swollen facial features. But the blood...where is that coming from?

The water squeaked to a halt yet Oliver's strangled bawling continued. I listened to him curse himself and listened to his dark thoughts spill out between heavy cries. I can't let him do this to himself.

I knocked on the door as gently as this monstrous form would allow me to. "Olly? Hey, lil bit, you okay?"

"I-I'm...I'm fine."

"You're not fine, dude. I can hear you sobbing from out here. You wanna talk about it?"

Silence.

"Olly?"

Nothing but a hard, painful sniffle.

"Look, man, if you don't wanna talk, that's okay too. But you can't stay in there forever. When you do decide to eventually come out, I'll be here for you, a'ight?"

"...Yeah, okay..."

It took about an hour. Possibly even longer than that, I couldn't really tell. As promised, I sat leaned up against the door, waiting for Oliver to be ready to talk to me or give me any sign that he was okay. But at least I could hear him breathing. That was enough to keep my own mind from assuming the worst.