The babysitter

Bloodstains in the dark

The darkness of the night pressed against the world like a heavy blanket, suffocating the city in its stillness. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of a passing car, its headlights briefly illuminating the empty pavement before disappearing into the shadows again. The wind howled softly, carrying the scent of rain and something else—something that Lucy couldn't quite place. It smelled like metal, like blood.

Lucy Chen stumbled down the empty street, her body heavy and unsteady, her vision clouded by the pain surging through her. Her left arm hung limply by her side, and her right hand, trembling, clutched at her ribs, where the sting of torn skin and bruised muscle refused to fade. She was battered and bruised, blood staining her clothes, soaking into the fabric with every step she took.

She didn't know what had happened, or how she had gotten here, only that everything had gone horribly wrong. She remembered the sharp pain, the moments of struggle, the feeling of helplessness as she tried to escape. But everything after that was a blur.

Where was she supposed to go? What was she supposed to do? There was no one she could trust, no safe place—except one.

Tim's house.

The thought came to her like a whisper, like the last fleeting hope in a sea of darkness. Tim had always been there for her. He had always looked out for her when no one else would.

And now, she needed him more than ever.

Lucy's breath came in ragged gasps as she approached the Bradford household, the familiar sight of the house standing stark against the night. It looked like any other house in the neighborhood—modest, warm, and inviting. But tonight, it was the only place she could think of, the only place that felt like a refuge.

Her steps faltered as she reached the front door, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. She reached for the doorbell, her fingers barely able to press the button before she collapsed against the doorframe, her head spinning. She needed him. She needed him now.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Tim, standing in the doorway, his face a mix of confusion and concern.

"Lucy?" he said, his voice thick with sleep but laced with genuine worry. "What happened to you?"

Lucy swallowed hard, her mouth dry as dust. She couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to explain the terror she felt. She had no time to explain. The only thing she could do was push forward, past him, into the house, her body shaking with every movement.

"Lucy?" Tim repeated, his voice more urgent now. "What's going on? You're—"

"No time," Lucy muttered, her voice weak, barely above a whisper. "Hide... please."

Her legs gave out then, and she collapsed into Tim's arms. Her bloodied hand reached out, clutching at his shirt as if it were the only thing holding her to this world. She could feel the warmth of his body, the strength of his grip, and yet everything felt so distant. Her vision blurred, and the pain—oh god, the pain—was so much that she could hardly stand it.

Tim cursed under his breath, his arms tightening around her, supporting her weight. "Jesus, Lucy, you're bleeding all over the place. What the hell happened to you?" His voice was frantic now, his earlier confusion replaced by fear. "We need to get you inside. Come on, I've got you."

He guided her inside, his voice calm but laced with tension as he led her to the couch. "Stay with me, okay? Just stay with me."

Lucy didn't have the strength to respond. She could barely keep her eyes open, her body shaking uncontrollably as the adrenaline that had carried her this far began to ebb away. She could feel the blood dripping from her side, pooling beneath her, and the sting of each wound sent fresh waves of nausea through her.

Tim was speaking to her again, but his words were muffled, as though they came from a distance she couldn't cross. She could feel his hands, firm and gentle, as they pressed against her side, trying to staunch the bleeding. It was only when he pulled her shirt up, revealing the damage done to her, that she understood the extent of it.

Her skin was marred with deep gashes, angry red and swollen, with blood staining her clothes. Her arm, too, was badly bruised, with a cut near her wrist that oozed dark red. Tim's face twisted in shock as he surveyed the damage, his eyes scanning over her wounds in disbelief.

"God, Lucy," he breathed, his hands shaking as they worked to undo the buttons on his shirt. "What happened to you?"

Lucy felt his fingers on her skin, the coolness of his touch, and for a moment, it brought a strange comfort. But then, the pain surged again, and her head spun violently.

"Hold on," Tim said, his voice low but filled with determination. He quickly retrieved a first aid kit from the nearby cabinet and returned to her side, his movements steady despite the panic that was visible in his eyes. "We're gonna take care of this, okay? Just stay with me."

Lucy closed her eyes, willing herself to remain conscious, but everything felt like it was slipping away. She was so tired. So unbearably tired. But she couldn't sleep, not yet—not while he was still there. Not while he was helping her.

"Tim," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's... too much... can't stay awake..."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But you have to. Just a little longer, okay? I need you to stay with me."

Lucy barely registered his words as he worked swiftly to clean her wounds, his hands moving with practiced care as he tended to her body. Each movement was a quiet reassurance, a silent promise that she wasn't alone. But her body was losing the fight, the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision, pulling her deeper with each passing second.

She let out a soft gasp as Tim gently applied pressure to one of her wounds, and then... nothing.

Her body finally surrendered.

Time Passed.

Tim's heart raced in his chest as he worked on Lucy, his mind going a million miles a minute. She was fading, and no matter how hard he tried to keep her awake, she was slipping from his grasp.

"Come on, Lucy," he muttered, almost pleading with her. "You can't go. Not like this."

He didn't know what had happened to her. The blood. The bruises. The cuts. It all told a story that was beyond his comprehension, a story he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. But right now, all he could do was try to keep her alive. He didn't have time for questions, didn't have time for answers. Only time for action.

He worked as fast as he could, cleaning the wounds and applying pressure where needed, but the fear was starting to creep into his veins. The fear that maybe it was too late. That maybe she was beyond saving.

He checked her pulse again. It was steady but slow. Too slow.

"Lucy..." he whispered, his voice trembling as he leaned over her. "Please don't leave me. Please."

It felt like hours before she finally stirred, her eyelids fluttering slightly as she groaned in pain. Tim's eyes widened in relief, his breath catching in his throat. "Lucy? Lucy, hey, stay with me, okay? You're okay. I've got you."

Her eyes cracked open, barely able to focus on him, but she gave him a small, weak smile. "Tim... I'm sorry..."

"Shh," he said softly, brushing her hair from her forehead. "You don't have to say anything. Just rest."

But Lucy wasn't finished. She had one last thing to say, her voice a whisper in the quiet room. "I didn't know where else to go... but you... you're safe. I trust you."

Her hand reached out weakly, and Tim took it, holding it gently as though it were fragile, something precious that might shatter at the slightest touch.

"I'll always keep you safe," Tim promised, his voice hoarse.

And with that, Lucy finally passed out, her breathing steady but shallow. Tim sat beside her, watching over her as the night stretched on, knowing he would do whatever it took to protect her—even if it meant facing whatever horrors had brought her to his door in the first place.

For now, though, all he could do was stay by her side.

Forget Lucy calling, face to face is much better :)