Soldier // Justin Bieber

Miss Buckingham

Marie's POV;

My hands shook as I fumbled around in the cupboards, finally finding the small roll of white bandage I had been looking for. Ethel muttered quietly to herself as she pressed a wet towel to the man’s wound, yet blood still managed to seep out. Surely it would stop sometime soon?

I rushed over to wrap the bandage around his thin waist. His ribs showed through, yet he was still very well built and muscular. The sickly metallic smell of his blood lingered around, causing my head to spin time to time. We’d brought him into the kitchen less than five minutes ago, yet it felt like ages, too long.

I knew that if this man didn’t live, even though I had done everything I possibly could, I would not be able to live with myself; It would haunt me. I couldn’t contact a doctor as we were miles and miles away from any sort of life, we were in the middle of nowhere, and so the only thing we could do was take care of him ourselves.

It was tough; I’d had no proper experience with first aid or anything of the sort. I had to clean up a few of William’s wounds now and then; but nothing compared to this. Of course, I hated helping William; why should I help when all I receive as thanks is a slap or a kick to the stomach? But this- this was voluntary. Who would I be to leave a bleeding man at my doorstep? An awful, heartless woman. William’s wounds were never really serious, maybe a small cut on his arm, or a small slash – much like a paper cut – on his chest. But this man’s life was at risk, and Ethel and I were the only ones able to help him.

Ethel and I were silent; we daren’t say a single word in the presence of the ‘mystery man’. Our lips stayed firmly shut as we rushed about the kitchen, retrieving bandages, towels and bottles of cleaning alcohol. We would take it in turns to hold his wrist, praying that his heartbeat wouldn’t slow down anymore than it already had.

We were depending on his rapid heartbeat, and would be completely vulnerable without it.

His eyes remained shut, and his mouth slightly hung open. But he was breathing, and that was all that mattered. He breathed in big, lung filling breaths, his running catching up on him. He was gorgeous – that’s not a criticism for a male is it? – But never the less, he certainly was flawless. His skin – beneath the grey, flaky mud – was clear, his cheeks a dim shade of rose. He was tanned, showing he spent most of his time outside, soaking up the Californian sun – something I desperately needed to do. Only a few – barely visible – freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose, but disappeared when it came to his cheeks. He was like a sepia picture, his glossy, coffee coloured head of hair only added to the image. I could only presume his eyes were dark and golden, as nearly everything else about him was.

I used a dampened cloth to remove the mud from his face, holding back his soft hair to remove the mud from his hairline. Sweat clung to his strands of hair, leaving it to spike up in thin clumps.

“I don’t know what else to do” I whispered to Ethel, yet somehow I felt as if my voice travelled to the man’s ears other than Ethel’s. I kneeled down in front of him, removing my heels as they started to ache. Why did I wear them around the house anyway? Mother wasn’t here, neither was Father or William, so why on earth was I dressed to impress someone? When around Ethel – and Ethel only – I wore simple things, or more, the most simple things I could find in my overrated wardrobe.

Lacing my fingers with his, I felt my heartbeat speed up. My cheeks grew hot and my heartbeat thumped loudly in my head. Without hesitation I used the soft pad of my thumb to trace circles on the back of his hand. “You’ll be okay” I whispered, reassuring myself more than anything.

We stayed silent and completely still for a moment, me holding the man’s hand and keeping track of his steady heartbeat whilst Ethel pressed the bloodstained bandage to his wound. “What happens when William gets back?” I asked Ethel, although I knew there really, was no certain answer. I dreaded him coming back, he would only jump to assumptions. A bleeding man in the kitchen, what would you think of that when you got home?