Rescue // Ashton Irwin

three.

Adley.

I woke up what must have been hours later, with intense pain in every part of my body. To my disgust, I was laying in a pool of my own blood- the sticky red substance coating my arms and back. But, I couldn't find the source of the bleeding from my position on the ground.

I forced myself to sit up, quickly regretting it when an unbearable pain tore through my body, causing the contents of my stomach to end up all over myself.

Tears cascaded down my cheeks in what felt like an endless stream.

This was the worst I'd ever gotten it, and I didn't know what to do.

There was no way I was going to be able to help myself, I couldn't even sit up without throwing up.

I couldn't call for an ambulance, it was obvious that this was an abusive situation, and that would require a whole investigation that I didn't need or want to deal with.

I couldn't call my mom either, because she would completely freak out and get Noah arrested, bringing us back to the ambulance situation.

My only option was to either lay here and pray that eventually I would gain back enough strength to get myself off of the floor... or to call Ashton.

That was the last thing I wanted to do, ever. He gave me his number in case I ever really needed him, and I knew he would go through with his promise, but I couldn't stand the thought of him seeing me like this.

If there was any other option, I would gladly take it, but there wasn't and I was running out of time before Noah came home again.

I mustered up enough strength to reach into the pocket of my jacket and grab my phone. The bright light from the screen intensified my migraine as I scrolled through my contacts to find Ashton's name. Thankfully it was right around the top of the list.

His smiling picture stared back at me as I pressed call. The phone rang once, twice, three times, before going to voice mail.

"Heyo, it's Ashton. Sorry I can't take your call, I'm probably out taking some pictures or something, but I'll get back to you as soon as I can!" His voice chirped from the other end.

I tried his phone twice more, but it went to his voice mail each time. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack.

He was my last hope. If I was still laying on the floor when Noah got home, I was almost positive it would trigger another incident and I didn't know if my body would be able to recover from one at this point.

I sent him a couple of texts, hoping that by some miracle he would see them soon and return the call. But, the phone didn't ring. And it wasn't going to any time soon.

Although I was almost certain that I wouldn't be able to do it, I was just going to have to work through the pain and get myself up.

I nearly cried at the mere thought of getting myself into the shower to clean off
- the stream of water pouring into my open wounds- but I managed to do it nonetheless, no tears shed. I didn't even have enough energy to cry any more.

After finally collapsing in the comfort of the hot shower, I began to remove the glass from my back, making sure to get every last piece out. As much as the whole situation was testing my will to live at the moment, I was not about to die from an infection from the glass.

When I had finished cleaning myself up completely, clothes and everything, I crawled into the comfort of my bed. But, not before locking the bedroom door and shoving a chair in front of it, just for good measure.