The House in Shambles

William

    I woke up from a nightmare, my heart and mind racing as my eyes adjusted to the room that surrounded me, unsure of how much sleep I had gotten, although it felt like a decent amount, maybe two or three hours. I lay in the dark, damp basement, listening to the clock's ticking, the only comforting thing I had. I rubbed my eyes, trying to rub away the sleep so that I could look around the room, hoping I would see William or any sign of him. There was nothing. The spot next to me lay empty, just like the spot I surrendered for the night—no Will just yet. Walking to the sink to wash my face, I couldn't help but worry about William; he couldn't be dead. I needed him, or maybe I just needed to not be alone. I couldn't be as strong as him, and I'm not capable of making Sarah feel as safe or comforted as Will makes her feel. So even if I do not need him, Sarah does. Splashing my face with the cold water cleared my thoughts, at least for a moment, until I heard movement upstairs coming near the basement door. I quickly shut off the water, running as fast as I could back to where Will usually lies. I heard the door open as I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. The sound of the door opening and footsteps cut through the silence. There was more than one person, but it sounded as though the second person wasn't walking at all, more of a dragging, limping sound. As the steps approached, I stopped my breathing, not wanting to be caught faking. There was a thud and grunt behind me, followed by a body sliding down the wall. It felt like an eternity until the footsteps departed and the door closed. I remained silent for a good while after, just in case it was some sort of trap. Once I felt the coast was truly clear, I turned towards the breathing that was coming in and out in short gasps, pushing myself up and onto my knees so that I could be in a better position to view and potentially help if need be.

     Will's battered body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving except for small groans and shallow breaths. He was alive, but just barely. I am not sure how long I stared at the mangled mess of a person in front of me before he spoke. I knew it was William, but the voice was all wrong like he was speaking while being choked. I asked him to repeat what he had said, but I didn't get another response. I turned my head while keeping my body facing him. In one shattered moment, my heart and breathing stopped. It was a difficult sight to see. He is a bloody, tangled mess; his nose is smashed and covered in blood, his eyes are swollen shut, and he is a rainbow of colors. His arms are wrapped around his stomach as if he's trying to hold in his guts, his shirt is lifted from where he slid down the wall, and I can see bruising covering his ribs and blood on his stomach. His body is glistening with sweat, and in some areas, there is a crimson shimmer. I scanned his body with my eyes, trying to take in all the damage done to William. There was not much I could do for him, and the only thing I had to clean his wounds with was plain water from the sink, but that was better than nothing. William was still unconscious, leaving me unable to ask for permission, but I carried on with what I wanted to do. I slowly raised his arms so that I could remove his shirt; after it was removed, I took off his jeans but left on his blue plaid boxers, saving him as much dignity as I could. This was when I was finally able to see just how injured he was. Besides the obvious bruising on his face, on his neck was a ring of red and bruising; there were two small crescent-shaped cuts, which I would assume were from fingernails; his wrist and forearms were bruised; most of his fingernails seemed to be broken; his knuckles were red; there was bruising and scrapes to his stomach and ribs; and there were seven shallow cuts to his toned stomach; there was scraping on his thighs; his knees were cut up; and his left ankle looked swollen and bruised. I was reading his body as if it were a terrible tale of pain and torture; I could not even begin to imagine hearing the story from William's now-busted lips.

     I got the water hot enough to clean, but not to the point where it would burn him. Using his shirt, I dabbed the hot water on his skin, starting with his face, trying to clean the layers of sweat and blood, taking my time moistening the dried blood so that when I cleaned it off, it wouldn't be so irritating to his skin. Going from head to toe, I cleaned up all the blood that I could while also taking in William. His skin was golden and tan, even after being kept in the dark for so long. His dark, wavy, black hair clung to his forehead; it was not terribly long, but you could tell it was cut not too long ago. He had a few freckles on his face, as well as them being sprinkled along his arms and chest. He was muscular, not like a bodybuilder but like a college football player. I draped his shirt over the edge of the sink so that it could dry. I decided not to put his jeans back on him because he felt feverish, so I folded them and set them aside. Having done all I could, I did not want to leave his side. I just couldn't leave him alone, so I laid next to him, close enough that if he woke, he would know I was there, but not enough to increase his body temperature. I drifted off, not knowing if he would survive the night, but knowing for now that he was okay.