As Michael was fighting, not only for his life but for the most important thing to him. Bella. Bella limped away to go call 911. She told them about the nightmare happening right before her eyes. "Stay calm. Police are on there way. Just stay calm and stay on the phone." The operator instructed her. When Michael had pushed her father down long enough to tell Bella where to go, he told her to run to his room and lock the doors. She did so and she heard what was happening down stairs. Once the police got there, she went down the stairs as fast as she could. Her father was in hand cuffs. She saw group of medics in a circle. "Michael!" She screamed. "Ma'am." A medic held a hand to her. "You are hurt. Please calm down and let us help you." "No! Michael!" She screamed. She ran to him, pushing people out of the way. She froze when she saw it. Michael was on the ground, covered in blood. "Michael!" She cried. Her father had hit Michael's head on the corner of the brick fire place. She saw him being treated while being put on a stretcher. She dropped at the sight of his his chest slowly, but desperately, rising and lowering. When they began bringing him to the ambulance, Bella got up and tried to follow him, but the police and medical unit stopped her. She struggled to get to him, but it was useless. When she was finally on the couch, the medical team was fixing her wounds, the police questioned her, but only briefly, as it was obvious what happened, and there was another unit cleaning up the glass and the blood. The medics were still fixing her when the police thanked her and left. When the cleaning people left, she thanked them repeatedly. They apologized for what had happened and said it was no problem. The last people to leave was the remainder of the medical team. "He'll be back tomorrow. I promise. Merry Christmas." "Yeah. I don't think that's how it works for me" she mumbled to herself. After they left, she locked the door and sat on the couch. She stared blankly as she thought about what had happened. Her wounds would heal in a day or two. No broken bones. Just skin and bruises. But Michael. He didn't deserve this. He had gotten hurt terribly, almost killed, because of her. She couldn't feel the cuts because she had taken some aspirin. She began to cry as she ran up to her room. She shut the door to her bathroom and began to look for something. She had thought she threw them all away until the light reflected of of something. She saw the silvery blade and reached for it. She shoved her sleeve out of the way and began her art. Except her brush was her blade, her canvas, her body and her paint was a mix of her pain and her blood. After an hour her wrists were in flames with the pain but she barley noticed. She cleaned up and got ready for bed. It was nine when got in bed. But this time, it wasn't Michael's. It was the first time she had slept in the room he had given her. Or at least tried to sleep. She knew if she went in Michael's room, she would have a total break down. Just the thought of him not being with there with her sounded wrong. As she lay in her bed, she began to cry. It was soft and quiet, but it was still tears. She felt empty without him behind her with his arms around her waist. She had his hoodie on, and hugged the sleeves close to her chest. As she cried, she thought more and more of Michael. How he had risked his life to protect her. 'Why would he risk something that valuable for something so worthless?' She thought to herself. Being alone was hard enough but since she met Michael, it was like not breathing to be without him. That night, the cold was unbelievably cruel. She fell asleep to the thought of Michael and to the tears rolling down her face.
