Lost and Found

Chapter Eighteen

Trubel's POV

I had done it, now. Andre was pissed.

I wasn't going to lie. My only regret was getting caught. I had to shut Roy up because the way he had been talking could get Nick killed. I just wish Andre hadn't walked in right at that moment.

I probably shouldn't have called him a coward... Even though he was one.

Anyway, Andre was dragging me by the back of my shirt out to the backyard. He told Orion, Zach, Marcus, and Julian to come with him. That wasn't good.

*************

Roy's POV

I was pacing in the basement. I didn't know what was going to happen. I just knew Andre hated me and loved violence, so my interference would make things worse rather than better.

It had been fifteen minutes since Trubel disappeared up the stairs with Andre. What were they doing that took so long?

I heard the basement door open. I looked up and saw Trubel walking down the stairs, holding a towel to her arm that was completely drenched in blood. I ran over to her. I guess I planned to carry her to the couch because she looked like hell, but she pushed me away from her.

"I'm so-" I started to say.

"If you tell me that you're sorry, I'll kill you. And, then, Andre will kill me, so shut up," she said bitterly. She finished getting down the stairs and sat down on one of the steps.

"Maybe you should lie down on the couch or something," I suggested, nervously.

"Andre told me to stay away from the couch," she said grumpily. "He said it's hard to get blood out of suede."

Then, she should really stay away from the couch. She had blood dripping not only from her arm, but down her face from a deep cut on her forehead. She also had a cut on the side of her lip, and her nose was bleeding (though she was wiping the blood on her arm). 

She pulled the blood-soaked towel away from her arm and I noticed that the cuts there formed our logo. It was basically a fancy seven with a few lines through it, and it was bleeding more than all of the other cuts because it was deeper; it would definitely scar. Trubel still had a bruise on her neck from earlier, but there were new bruises that were beginning to form on her arms and her face.

"How did all of this happen?" I asked. "I didn't hear a thing." I expected to hear yelling or something breaking, but the whole time I had been pacing, I heard nothing.

"You weren't supposed to," Trubel said. She was glaring past me, probably thinking about what had happened to her. "We wouldn't want to wake the neighbors and have one of them call the cops," she said.

"What did they do?" I asked. I didn't really want to know the answer.

"Nothing that's making them any friends," she said coldly like she was going to get her revenge some day. I really couldn't blame her for wanting that. 

She got to her feet and started walking towards the bathroom that was down here. She limped for the first few steps but straightened up after that.

She definitely wasn't a coward.

Trubel was only gone for a few seconds. She came out of the bathroom holding a roll of paper towels. She set it down on the bar counter and started digging through the cabinets. Eventually, she pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

"I like where this is headed," I said.

She rolled her eyes at me, but still sat next to me on the stairs. She took the cap off of the whiskey bottle, pressed some paper towels to the top, and tipped the bottle upside down. When the paper towels were decently soaked, Trubel untipped the bottle and pressed the towels to some of her deeper wounds. She didn't flinch or make a face. She looked calm.

"Doesn't that hurt?" I asked. She moistened another paper towel and pressed it to an open wound on my wrist. It must have been deeper than I thought because it still wasn't closed up.

"Ow!" I yelled, pulling my arm away from her. It felt like she just shoved a lit match under my skin.

I watched Trubel clean out her wounds with the alcohol and couldn't help feeling more impressed that she was keeping a straight face. She made it look painless and boring.

"There's no way that's good for your arm," I said.

"It's fine," she replied. "Alcohol can cause tissue damage, but it's better than getting an infection. Usually, the bleeding is enough to clean these things out, but I'm just making sure." Trubel removed a long bandage from her forearm; it was from when she cut her arm so she would bleed, making her death seem more convincing. She poured some whiskey on it, too. She probably already disinfected it but was just making sure. She continued dabbing away the blood that was dripping down her arms and face. She handed me the roll after grabbing a few more towels, and I dabbed the blood off of the wounds that had ripped their stitches.

This had been a weird night.