Intoxicated

Six

I didn't know what to do.

I stared at him, mouth hung agape.

His hands were fisted by his side and it didn't take much to understand the fire in his eyes.

I wasn't supposed to be in here. I wasn't supposed to know.

"Get out." He said, louder this time. His voice tight.

I cast one last glance at the blueprint and then made my way towards the door behind him. What was this room? Why did he have this room?

I held my breath as I passed, our shoulders brushing lightly as I moved towards the exit.

Dave followed me out.

The keys to what I presumed to be for this room, jingling a little too loudly in his hands as I stepped back into the hallway.

"You weren't supposed to go in there." His voice was still coming out strained.

"I didn't know." I said quietly.

It was a heavy, metal door that looked like it could be bolted when needed to be. I definitely didn't need a sign to know that I wasn't allowed in there but that was the only excuse I had.

"I told you I would be back-"

When he pulled on the heavy door, a soft gasp escaped his lips. Followed by a wince. It was only then when I noticed the dark liquid covering the side of his shirt. He was bleeding!

"You're hurt!" I exclaimed. I moved closer to see the wound but he stopped me with his icy stare.

"I'm fine."

Another painful wince as he tried to pull on the metal door again.

A grunt fell from his mouth when the door didn't budge.

"Let me help you, I'm learning about this stuff, you can't bleed out-"

"Lyla." He warned, making a move to push away the hands that were reaching towards him.

"Dave, if you continue to bleed, you will be an in even worse situation. Just let me look at it. If it gets infected than you really won't be able to do anything."

I could see him thinking it through. I could see it in the way his jaws unlocked and locked, the way his eyes burned through mine. Brown through blue.

Finally, after what felt like five minutes when it really was five seconds, Dave's fisted hands loosened and he nodded.

"Fine."

I wanted to roll my eyes at him. He made it sound like it was he who was doing the favor, when in fact, it was me who was trying to take care of him.

I led the way into the kitchen and grabbed the towel that was on the counter.

It was only my freshmen year but I had done enough as an intern at a nearby hospital during the summer to know how to clean a flesh wound. Wet, warm towel and then alcohol to disinfect.

A first aid kit was sitting by the sink and I grabbed it after wetting the towel. Just how often did he get these kinds of wounds? If he had a first aid kit handy on out in the open, I guessed that the incidences were often enough.

I wonder, what had happened? He'd gotten a call and then he'd left and then he'd come back with a wound that looked like a deep cut.

"I suppose you're not going to tell me how you got this wound?"

Dave shrugged carelessly. "I got stabbed."

My hands, froze as I turned to face him, wide eyed. "Stabbed?"