The Carter Family Screw Up [Carter Brothers - Book 2]

Six - "This is going to hurt."

"Them come with me."

I put my bag into my locker and closed it before walking behind him. I wanted to ask where we were going but my instincts told me not to. A minute later we were standing by his locker, where he opened and removed a backpack, then closed his locker and carried on walking; me following behind again.

We walked down the stairwell, all the way to the bottom where there was only one door labeled 'Basement.' He opened the door and walked in, holding the door open for me. I hesitated for a moment before stepping through.

It was dark and dingy looking, with pipes running along the ceiling and a faint smell of bleach in the air. I chose this moment to ask a question.

"Why are we in the basement?"

"Privacy. Nobody really comes down here." He said, walking to the back of the room where there was an old brown tattered couch, a coffee table and a few chairs. This must be where he hangs out.

"Sit." He said pointing to the floor by the coffee table. I did what he said, and he sat down on the floor in front of me. He opened his backpack and I was surprised to see what was inside.

Gauze, bandages, medical tape, rubber gloves… this was far more than a first aid kit. Once again my mouth betrayed me.

"Why do you have all that stuff? You save injured girls alot?" I asked.

He looked at me, cocking an eyebrow then turned his attention to his bag. He took out a bottle of antiseptic, swabs, some gauze, the medical tape and finally gloves, which he put on.

He handed me some gauze and me to hold it tightly on the wound until the bleeding stopped. Sure enough a few minutes later it had stopped.

He took my hand without asking but I didn't object. I could feel the warmth of his hands through the gloves and for some reason my heartbeat increased.

He inspected the injury for a moment, before picking up the antiseptic bottle.

"This is going to hurt." He said and before I got a chance to register his words, he squirted some antiseptic onto my hand and I screamed out.

"FUCK!!" It felt like being stung by a thousand wasps.

"Try to keep still while I clean it." He said.

"Im trying too, but it fucking hurts!" He signed in annoyance and picked up a cotton swab and started cleaning the wound.

I watched his face as he tended to my hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration and in contrast to his attitude, his hands were delicate. I could barely feel him touching me; he was that gentle.

Once he'd cleaned it, he taped a piece of gauze on top, then wrapped a bandage around my hand, and took off his gloves.

"Thank you." I said, softly.

He looked at me for a few seconds;  longer than I expected, before rummaging in his bag again and removing a bottle of pills.

"You need to call your parents and tell them your not feeling well, and they need to pick you up." He told me.

"Oh, no I'm fine. I can still finish the rest of the day. And they're not my parents - they're my aunt and uncle." I dont know why I felt the need to add that last part. It's not like it makes a difference to him.

"Oh." He seemed suprised by that revelation. But then the attitude came back. "Whatever. Whoever they are, they need to take you home."

"Why?"

"Because these are pretty strong pain killers. They're going to make you feel a drowsy so it's best you're at home when you take them." He said handing me the bottle.

"Right. Okay." I said, taking them from him.

He packed away everything into his bag and we left the basement.

"Call you aunt and uncle." He said before turning on his heels and waking away.

He's such a confusing human

I told my uncle that I was having 'women's issues' and he drove to my school straight away, on the proviso that I don't give him any details about what's wrong. I love him but he's such a guy.

It's just a little menstruation, guys!

Or not, in this actual case, but you get my point. We made it home and after getting a glass of water from the kitchen I made my way upstairs to my room. I took 2 of the pills as Dr Tattoo Boy had instructed and got changed into some pj's.

I closed my drapes and laid on top of my bed, looking at the bandage on my hand.

How did he know how to treat my hand? And do it so delicately? And why did he have al bag full of medical supplies? It's obviously something he's done before. And more than once I would guess.

And why did he help me in the first place? Was it because I.... Uh..... What was I.... Wow..... these painkillers.... Are.... So.....

And I was out for the count.