Pricked

40

Mitch

"What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Why Harriet? Haven't you hurt her enough over the years?" No answer, there is never an answer lately. "Just tell me what to do! Tell my why there is this sudden pause in her life! This halt will do no one any good!" My voice raises from a soft cry to a bazooka scream. "I hate you! I hate you!" I glance back at the door, why did he leave? Why did he do this? Why did I leave? I should have been here, I never should have left her. "I will never forgive you, never." I look back to Harriet, I'm still holding her bleeding wound. "If you take her, I will never forgive you." I call out desperately. I glace back to the door again, "you freaking idiot, Arren." I mutter. The door still swung open I glance down to the floor a trickle of blood that followed Arren out. "Next time I see that jerk I'm gonna kill him, Harriet. I am going to kill him."

I feel an itch on my nose and instinctively move my hand to scratch it. When I pull my hand away a see the blood, Harriet's blood, dripping off my hand... I swat at my nose with the back side of my hand trying to remove the blood, but my shaky hand only causes blood to drip on my shirt as well.

"Harriet. Don't die. Okay? Don't die." I don't know what to do or how to save her or why no one is coming to help. I hear footsteps at the door, it didn't even occur to me to call for help after Arren left. "Help, someone help!" The footsteps draw closer and I turn only to see Arren.

"I'm so sorry..." he looks down at the splattered blood then meets my stare. "Now please let me make it up to both of you and save her." I give a stiff nod and hold back the urge to punch him. As he approaches only now do I realize he is holding a bag a new bag, his old bag was left here on the floor, supplies spilling out of it. He rushes to the opposite side of her bed and I pull my hands off of her and latch onto her hand. He immediately rips open her dress exposing the wound. I don't know what he is doing, but he's doing it rather fast. His hands move from her to the bag, his eyes dart back and forth from me, to Harriet, to his bag.

I want to say something, I want to help, I know not what to say or what to do, so I sit holding Harriet's hand, praying. If he needs my help he will ask and I will help the best I can. I look to Arren and stare as he works, I'm not sure when he notices, but his gaze meets mine just for a moment and I see all the pain and sorrow smeared across him. But, I also see the redemption in his eyes, it is molded all over his face.