Not Us, Not Ever

10. My Leave.

      I recovered my bleeding arm, "What time do you want me to leave?" I stared down at my lap. As much as I felt like dying, I can't act like the coward I practically begged Riley not to be.

        "Tomorrow evening. I don't even want to see your face when I get home, understand?" He lowered his gun. I nodded and heard him scoff, "Shooting you dead would have made me feel better," he said and left my room. I bet it would. Even though my dad left the room, I still felt the chill of fright in me and the heart break still rang in my ears. You heard the man, Oliver. You're not his son. You're an abomination.

        After long hours of silently crying silently to myself, I got up and started packing in advance. I didn't want him to come back up with that gun tomorrow evening and see me still in the middle of packing. Who knows? Maybe he wouldn't even hesitate to pull the trigger. Trying to ignore the pain in my arm, I packed clothing, my toothbrush, couple pairs of shoes, whatever I had in my money jar from the Summer job I had, and my laptop and my phone was in a bag of uncooked rice at my bedside. I'm only packing my laptop because there are pictures of Lily, Hunter, Riley and I on it.. My parents are usually more than lenient than other's so if this is their reaction, I can't imagine how it is over at Riley's place. I set my packed bag next to my desk and sat in my bed awake. How could I sleep? Especially since the first time I woke up today there was a loaded gun in my face. Maybe I should bandage it.. but then again I'm too scared to leave my room. Oh well. I better man up or bleed out. I got up and went to the bathroom. I could still here my mother crying in their room. I didn't mean to make mother cry.. I looked at my bullet graze wound in the mirror. It was a lot more messier than I thought. It was deeper than I thought. Blood streamed down my arm and kept pulsing out so much, I bet there's stains in my bed. I haven't really looked. It'd hurt more if I wasn't so full of adrenaline. I heard the door open behind me. I turned to see my mother's red face stained with tears.

        "Sorry," I said and tried to squeeze past her through the door so that'd she could have the bathroom to herself.

        I felt her grab my arm. The same one that was already injured. I winced in intense pain. She pulled me back into the bathroom and closed the toilet seat lid. "Sit," she said. I did what she said without making eye contact. I couldn't bare to look at her. She left and came back not too long after and I still haven't looked in her direction. She held a rag in front of my face, "Bite on this." I hesitated, but did as she asked. Then, I felt her grab my wrist and a burning sensation on my wound. I screamed for her to to stop whatever it is she was doing and shutting my eyes tight and begged her to let go, but all she did is tell me to "keep biting on the rag" or "be quiet". I looked over to see what she was doing. She was pouring peroxide on it and tearing up again. I looked away, still screaming. Not because of the pain. I just couldn't look at the disappointment that was obviously there. She let it sit for a little with me whimpering like a puppy, then I felt more pain. It felt like constant stings around the wound, making it feel even worse. I was back to screaming. I didn't have the strength to keep the rag in my mouth, "Mommy, please stop!" I begged after spitting the rag out, "No more! No more, please!" I peeked at what she was doing now. She was suturing the wound closed.

        "Don't worry," she whimpered with a fake smile, "I sterilized the needle. I'll be done in a couple more stitches." How could she see with those eyes clouded with tears. She had more tears falling down her beautiful face than I did. And I caused them. Maybe I should have let dad shoot me. She made a few more rounds and cut the thread, "Now, here comes the easy part." She picked up some bandages and wrapped then tightly enough round my arm. There was still a little patch of blood on the bandage, but it wasn't too bad as when she started out. My mother washed the excess blood that ran down my arm off and sent me back to my room with her following