Don't Talk to Strangers

XV

I couldn't breathe. The pain in my side blossomed, far worse than I'd imagined in the oblivion. Had I ever imagined it? I couldn't remember. I groaned, biting my tongue to stop from crying out.

I felt his tears, heard his sobs. I couldn't figure out what I thought of it, I just knew I hurt.

"C—C—Cass—!" he stuttered, barely able to form words. He was distraught, his face contorted and desperate. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he repeated, louder than before.

I gritted my teeth, "Dan... I get it, please. Just... get me help. I need help. What—What happened? Did you... shoot me?"

He nodded, grimacing. "I never meant to hurt you," he gasped, "I'm so sorry!"

I gulped, another wave of pain radiating from my side. I prayed it was only a graze. "Dan," I said, "help me sit up. Careful." I gasped as he lifted me, my muscles aching. He shuddered, still crying. "Dan!" I snapped. "You've got to stop crying. Please. Just help me."

He nodded and I watched in fascination as his face slowly stoned, becoming much closer to the confident man from the beginning. I felt a small flash of fear, afraid of what he might do, but he continued to gently help me sit up, leaning me against the couch.

I carefully lifted my shirt, looking at my side. There was a lot of blood. I swallowed hard.

"Dan, would you—would you get a wet cloth? I need to clean off the blood..." I said, blinking at my own clarity.

He nodded, leaving reluctantly and heading down the hall. "They're in the small closet!" I managed to yell after him. He seemed to find them, as he disappeared into the kitchen and I heard running water. He came back and knelt beside me, staring blankly at the wall beyond me.

I took the cloth, muttering a "Thank you" and delicately dabbed at the blood. It looked much better after the smears of it had left the surrounding area. When it came time for the actual wound... I shivered. "Would you get another cloth?" I asked him.

Dan took the bloody cloth from me and tossed it in the sink, getting another one and wetting it. He came back slower than before, his facade starting to dissipate. "I'm sorry," he breathed again as he handed me the cloth, struggling to stay calm.

I took it, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He looked from the ground to my face. "It's okay," I told him quietly. "I don't hate you." I saw a wall drop from behind his eyes and he smiled, a microscopic, relieved smile. I offered one back at him, then turned back to my side.

I gently pressed the cloth to the raw point, wincing. It didn't seem as bad as I thought. I'd never been shot before, so I supposed that was why I'd passed out. I must not have been breathing, either, what with all the tension. Not healthy.

After ten minutes of meticulous cleaning, I examined the wound. It looked like a graze, if a little deeper than I would've liked. I would need a bandage.

"Dan, the bandages are in the same closet," I told him, barely looking up. "Could you—" I started, but I stopped, seeing him crying again. "Dan...?"

He didn't say anything.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I blinked in shock, dropping the cloth. He brought his shaking fingers to my neck, shifting onto his knees to sit more comfortably. He continued kissing me, and I didn't stop him.