BASELINE ✸ Art Donaldson

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Fourteen. Two Hands Burnt By The Fire

      ART AND TATUM HAD BEEN SITTING IN AWKWARD SILENCE. Tatum had her shoulder wrapped with some sort of cloth and an ace bandage that kept it all together.

But Tatum's hands were still trembling from the pain the actual relocating of it brought her. The EMT who did it had warned her to grab onto something, but there weren't any railings and despite Art's kind offerings, she refused to squeeze his hand through the pain.

So instead, she sat here with her legs laid straight out as she awaited Aaron's arrival.

But Tatum couldn't help but wonder if this was how it felt for Tashi to be sitting there in agonizing pain in that infirmary -- sitting next to a man who was already taken. Because that's sure as hell how Tatum felt right now.

Or maybe if that was when Art really started envisioning a future for the two of them. When he fell out of love with Tatum.

The tension is thick and the unsaid words are hanging in the air like bats hiding in a cave — ready to bite.

She can tell Art wants to say something. He keeps looking down at my hand, then to his bare one as if he's contemplating whether to grab hers or not.

He can't though, because Patrick comes running in. Art is quick to his feet, and it's almost as though Tatum has taken Tashi's place and they've gone back in time 12 years.

Patrick doesn't continue, he barely moves an inch before taking another step inside this tent. Like he, too, is having deja vu of their messed up past.

But Tatum doesn't tell him to go, and neither does Art. Because it isn't his place and he knows that.

He's waiting by the entryway, scanning the two of them for confirmation on whether he can come in or if he'll just get yelled at a second time.

Tatum nods, allowing him in.

And Patrick looks at Art with that look in his eye. But Art just gives Tatum a look of disbelief, lips parting with an unspoken gasp.

"Can you just go?" She says, so quietly it sounds like a whisper — voice croaking with unshed tears.

They both know who she's talking to, even though she's staring directly ahead, at neither of them.

But ultimately, he accepts it with a clenched jaw. He grabs his bag, tosses it over his shoulder and storms out.

"That was badass." Patrick grins, taking the seat Art was previously in.

Tatum might have laughed if she didn't feel so miserable. All she wanted was her brother.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." Patrick says with a breathy sigh, now frowning at his poor attempt to cheer her.

Tatum doesn't move. "It's fine, Patrick."

He narrows his gaze on her; examining her — wondering why she isn't putting up a fight like she usually does.

But he doesn't ask her because he doesn't have the time to. Aaron comes in and relief washes over Tatum's face entirely as he walks over to the gurney she lays on.

His strong arms wrap around her and Tatum feels as though she can finally breathe. "I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head, pulling away. "Tate, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry."

Tatum tried to smile up at him, but it showed as more of a frown.

Aaron just looked down at her sister with an apologetic gaze before clearing his throat and speaking again. "So what'd they say?"