Blood Loss (re)

#12 The Calm Before The Storm

I sat on the toilet seat lid in my undies as Edge kneeled in front of me, dabbing the cuts on my legs with rubbing alcohol. I've gotten injuries from fights before but I've also never been hurled like 10 feet in the air. I was sore and my headache was killing me but I'd live. I whined as he dabbed one of the bigger cuts setting my hands on his shoulder.

"Honestly I'm impressed you held on for this one. Alcohol bites." Edge laughs, he takes out Neosporin and dabs it in the gash, taking out a suture needle.

"We can't go to a hospital?" I ask, wincing at the curved needle in his hand.

"No. My apartment is safe, a hospital isn't. From the demons anyways." He says tying string through the end of the needle.

I grit my teeth as the needle pushes into my flesh and end up howling anyways.

I lean against the counter, clutching the toilet paper roll with my other hand and close my eyes tight.

"Fuck" I whimper under my breath.

"Do you need a break?" Edge asks, pausing.

"No, just get it over with. Ignore my bitchin'" I respond. He does as I request and I continue to writhe. It stung, burned under my skin only for the cut the be pulled closed and then bruising around the cut made the area swell, cries left my lips needlessly.

"Okay I'm done. None of your other cuts need to be sutured." He says tying the last stitch. He wraps my legs in gauze and cuts the tape, pinning it in place. I turn to him from the counter, and he holds my face in his hands, and wipes away my tears.

He had removed some glass and things that punctured my skin, also bandaged up that gash on my leg while I was asleep but he wanted to wait till I woke up to finish.

When he was done putting bandaids and gauze on my cuts and scrapes he helped me out of the bathroom and sat me on his bed.

"Hey, Edge? Why'd you save me?" I ask again, looking up at him; doe-eyed.

With an exhale he sits down next to me, cocking his head to the side he says "we're friends aren't we?"

Are we though? I don't think that's a genuine answer. Should I question it further though? He did save me, that's all that should matter. 

He's avoiding eye contact. I guess I'm right, it wasn't a genuine answer, but that begs the question... What is a genuine answer if not that one?

He scoots back and lays against his pillow, staring at the ceiling. I lay back too, my back is sore. My eyes are heavy and flutter shut.

Isn't the recital tonight? I can't go there looking like this. Lia needs my help though... I can't just abandon her. I'm in danger though, they'd understand right? No, that's unreasonable. They'd think I lied to get out of it. Demons? That sounds silly. Then I need to go.

"Where's my phone?" I ask.

"Hmm?" He reaches over to the nightstand on the other side of the bed and hands me my phone. Two nightstands???

It was 1pm. I needed to be there in a 2 hours for dress rehearsal and the quick run-through for the numbers. I had several unread messages from Dakota. I hold up my phone and my hands start to shake.

Some 80's Rocker: did you go on a run? Your running shoes on gone.

Some 80's Rocker: hey it's been a long time, are you okay? When are you coming back? Did you sneak out?

Some 80's Rocker: I'm worried now. Where are you?

Me: I'm okay. I'm sorry for worrying you, my phone died.