Upon A Star

Chapter 9

The hospital room depressed Celeste as the nurse enveloped stitches, delicately, one-by-one. The thread looped in and out and tightened until the deep cut that once showcased muscle, blood and hurt was shut, concealing the painful memory that was caused by her very own mother.

He sat by her throughout the whole procedure: while her hand was tightly gripping his to the point where she was almost constricting his blood flow, while she screamed through the pain and while she cried until there was no tomorrow. She would flinch and scream and kick and cry, but he remained calm for her.

But, as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles smoothly with a smile plastered on his face, muttering sweet sayings to calm her, it had successfully managed to lull her to relax.

She ignored the sterilised environment and the antiseptic scent that kept piercing her nose, she ignored the hospital-blue walls and the bright white lights that shone purely for medical purposes. She ignored the needle that thrust into her wrist, and the thread that slid underneath her broken tendons. Instead, she bit her lip in an attempt to ignore the pain. And she looked at him instead, his comforting eyes looking straight back at her.

He was not who she wanted, he was not the kind of knight in shining armour she'd always imagined. He was merely a boy, the boy who waitressed at her modelling agency. He didn't pose with her; instead he brought her tea and water.

As his car rolled out of the parking lot, she stared clinically at her bandaged wound. The white dressing lapped over her knuckles, tightly over her wrist allowing for red splotches of blood to seep through, and it enclosed all the way up to her elbow, covering even the small cuts and bruises that landed as a repercussion from her mother.

"Are you alright?" He asked whilst his eyes remained on the road ahead.

"I'm fine," she lied a lie so obvious. Just like Pinocchio, her lie was as clear as Pinocchio's growing nose.

"Look, you probably need somewhere to stay and you are most certainly not going to stay where that witch is," he explained calmly and at the pronunciation of Cora as the witch, his eyes squinted as if in disgust and the sound that came out at her description almost sounded as if he had spat. "You'll stay with me," he concluded, not even a question, it was a statement.

Celeste twisted the ripped edge of her bandage where the nurse had previously cut the dressing off viciously. She found herself staring away from him, but she nodded a gentle nod and Luke's eyes twinkled with success.

-

Nick flipped his phone over and over again. No new text messages, no hint of life. Nothing.

Celeste slammed the door shut behind and she was gone. He hadn't heard anything from her since; he didn't know how she left, had someone taken her? Had she called for a taxi?

His girlfriend sprawled over the couch and manicured her fingers. The smell of nail polish pierced the air and he felt light headed from the strong aroma. His index finger touched his contact list, and it flew over Celeste's phone number in hesitation.

Should he call her?

He'd acted jerk enough for a day. He would leave her at peace. After all, her mother had just died, and it was her fault really.

"Baby, why can't you just sit down," Jessica pouted as if she was a two year old girl who had just been denied playtime.

"I feel horrible, I just-," he stuttered and muttered and mumbled and shuffled up and down the living room. He couldn't stand still, or sit. He felt the need to move, he had to get going, and he felt awful.