Teenage Bones

The Mess

I walk towards the stupid vibrant red door Liz had painted last summer when she had a sudden urge to be 'quirky'. Jace loved it so much he blew bubbles of spit all over it and managed to nearly gloss the whole thing. Standing in front of it now, it seemed like forever since I had seen anyone. I knocked, two, three times and there wasn't a reply from the ugly red thing. I then caught Jace's cries from the garden so I went to the side and successfully pushed open the back gate. Drops of blood led me to a dining table where Jace's body was tied to each leg, blood pooling from his abdomen and organs falling from under his sweater to the floor. Without thinking, I let out a scream and ran to the kitchen to get a knife, swiftly as I possibly could, cut all the ropes. I then picked him up and ran to the sitting room where Mr. Clarke hand one arm around Liz's neck and a gun pointed to her temple. My dad's body trailed into the hallway and he wasn't moving, I stayed still to see if I could catch him breathing in, but he doesn't.

 I felt myself jerk, once, twice, thrice.

"Esmé, wake up!" Mr Clarke shouted at me. Suddenly Jace's inside- out body was on the floor and I was coughing up water over organs that lay splayed out over his tiny body.

My body tugs me once, twice, thrice.

I fall to the floor and Mr. Clarke doesn't help, instead, he stays put, brandishing the gun towards Liz who whimpered and cried.

Mr Clarke abandoned Liz, throwing her over dad's body and held my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to sit up and cough up more and more water.

"Esmé, breathe, please!" Something pushes against my ribs and I feel their vulnerability against the rough rhythm pushed into my heart. He shook my shoulders erratically then I got three fast breaths before more rhythmed pushes right above my heart. But Mr Clarke was only shaking my shoulders, not trying to rip my heart out.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" his voice blares at me, shaking me harder and harder with every word, the attacks to my chest getting harder and harder before I am swept away by the empty blackout.

~*~

The smell of coffee makes me open my eyes. I'm laid on the sofa in the small apartment and my head feels clear. Mr Clarke Lays on the other sofa, asleep. The grey woolen blanket kept me warm, I drew it back and lifted my shirt to see a bandaged stomach and an alarmingly large patch of dry blood. Next to the sofa on the floor was a bucket full of water with dirt and leaves and thick clots of blood. An empty IV bag hung on the metal wheeled IV holder by the sofa but the fact it wasn't in my arm and no liquid was left gave me the impression that I didn't need it anymore. I pulled back the blanket and gently padded to the bathroom but stopped in the doorway. There was smeared blood from the shower to the tub. Most of the walls were squirted with blood, in and around the toilet was thick dark blood and my bloody clothes just poking from under the basket lid. Four towels were curled on the floor, soaked on the floor. All four of them. Some drops were on the ceiling.

Oh fuck.

I walk over to the Faetus administering room and flip the light switch. Stitch needles, weird thread, bloody bandages everywhere, blood all over the floor, up the walls and many gauzes littered on every countertop. Four empty water IV bags on the top and one empty blood transfusion bag. Patches of dirty water drowned the floor and there were burn marks on the chair as well as the plastic sheet laid over the chair. I flicked the light back off and dragged my still- clean duvet off of my bed, layering it over me as I laid down on the sofa with a white pillow under my head. Picking up the bucket, I moved it to the kitchen before I got too comfortable and emptied it out in the sink. I nested back to my warm spot, the clock read seven, Mr. Clarke's breaths were even, there are spots of blood on the sofa where my head lay on the pillow and the grey blanket was perfect. The lights above us were left on and the half-full coffee cup near a dead-to-the-world Mr. Clarke was abandoned. He must've just fallen asleep. The amount of evidence Mr. Clarke left showed that he'd tried everything to keep me breathing- and it showed that he attempted everything. 

Peeling back the grey covers and managing a sitting position, I peel back the bandages.  There was a deep cut with many stitches. I felt my back jar, and reach to support it before I feel stitches just a few centimeters next to my spine. The knife had gone all the way through me.

Bitches.

When I bring my hand back from checking the stitches at the back, and there are drips of thick, dark, cream-like blood. Eww.

I wipe the 'blood' on my top.

Slowly- very fucking slowly- I rise to get to the administrating room where I know I could find bandages. Surprisingly, there wasn't a lot of pain unless I bent over and that was easy to avoid. At the moment. 

Pulling open every drawer and cupboard, I found a bandage wide enough to cover my stomach and ribs. Carefully lifting the swirl of grey over my head, I take in the purple and blue decorating my ribs all over. Wow.

Ripping the plastic off the bandage was easy, twisting my body to reach it around my whole figure wasn't. I manage with many hisses and cursing until I've wrapped from the bottom of my stomach to under my bra, and a little under it too. Weirdly, I didn't know how to keep the end stuck to me so I just tuck it into the top of the bandages before putting the top back on.

Slipping into the covers made me feel less exposed. Mr. Clarke's feature made me feel weird, from here, he looked exhausted and almost normal. If I had to guess his age, I'd choose the early twenties, which is crazy.

My eyes start to droop and I let them.