Shattered

Hazel (e)

Hazel
32.
"Mr. Wright, wait."

My head was spinning, and my unsteady, worried voice matched it as I tried to call out to Mr. Wright's retreating form, but to no avail. Either not hearing me or not wanting to.

I turned to Joy and Sam to spare them one last look, but hesitated as a wave of frustration filled my chest.

To Joy specifically, "What were you thinking?"

Not giving her a chance to speak, I turned to follow after where Mr. Wright had disappeared. I couldn't stop picturing the blood that was on my sleeve. It was a startling reminder of this morning when I noticed those same exact cuts.

I had to find him.

Joy should have known better to keep her distance. Now, all I could think about was how Mr. Wright froze with something close to fear when her hand touched his arm.

If anything, I should have been the one to know better. Maybe I should even feel angry that Mr. Wright lashed out the way he did, but I didn't.

I followed after Mr. Wright, down a hallway and toward the men's restroom that I knew he had ducked into. My heart pounding when I imagined him on the other side. If he was in there, what would I see? Would he act as if nothing happened?

When I pushed on the door handle, though, it didn't budge, but it gave me all the answers I needed to know that my boss was inside.

"Mr. Wright, open the door," I pushed on the door again. "It's me."

The faint sound of running water caught my attention and waited for what felt like forever. But nothing happened.

"Let me in, Mr. Wright." Did I sound like I was pleading?

The longer the seconds ticked by with no response, I couldn't help but to worry. I pictured Mr. Wright's hardened features, pulled taut with a clenched jaw. Was he angry at himself? Or at me? For stepping in? Then, I also pictured his face filled with emotion.

"I'm just gonna go..." I trailed off unsurely. If anything, I had no intention of leaving.

But maybe Mr. Wright wanted to be left alone.

Disappointment curled in the pit of my stomach when I turned to leave, but only got a few steps in before I heard the click of a lock. I spun around to find Mr. Wright's face peeking through a crack in the door. I felt my heart leap inside my chest and drew close so that I could see him clearly.

"What do you want?" He asked. There was an edge to his tone, but it sounded defeated.

"Let me help you."

"Why?"

Mr. Wright shook his head, and didn't give me a chance to speak. "You're wasting your time, Hazel. There's nothing to help."

He moved to close the bathroom door, but I caught it before it could shut all the way and slid inside. Mr. Wright didn't try to stop me, but his stare watched me warily.

Glancing around me, I noticed the discarded pile of red-tinted towels sitting beside the running sink, then watched as Mr. Wright got a new one and ran it under the water.

There were so many questions that filled my mind when he began to scrub relentlessly over the bleeding cuts. Questions like: did he do this to himself? And why? What was he thinking about when Joy grabbed his arm?

Mr. Wright's head shot up when I closed the distance between us, like a deer caught in headlights, and didn't miss the sharp, intake of breath when I took the ice cold paper towel from his hand.