Drowning

After Dark

        Maggie walked in the door at some point while I was on the couch and I heard her gasp, “That son of a bitch”. I was trying to remain under the cloud of sleep to avoid the pain all over my body. I heard her on the phone with someone in the other room, and before I had been able to drift back into the blackness that was serving as my current sanctuary, Mark was crouched by my side. I had remembered to text him I was leaving earlier, but failed to mention what had happened, not realizing how extensive the injuries were. “Her blood sugar has to be low.” I heard him tell Maggie, suggesting she get my pouch while he looked around for high carbohydrate foods. I felt a prick at the top of my finger and understood that Maggie was checking my sugar, “She's at sixty-three.” I heard her tell Mark. I was awake enough to understand that this was not a good thing.

          My mind came back to me and I tried to sit up, but immediately regretted that idea, since my back was still throbbing. “No sweetie, stay down,” Maggie soothed me, and I couldn't help but notice the catch in her voice, “we'll take care of it.”    

          Mark came in the room with a full sized, emergency snickers and a lot of leftovers, along with some orange juice. He gave me the juice and Snickers first, and then fed me the rest. I could see the worry in his eyes and new found fury appeared every time he looked at my back. The more I ate the better I felt, and after about fifteen minutes of eating, I reached for the pouch. My sugar was now at about one hundred fifty, which is about normal considering my average readings.

          I decided to sit up then, letting out a groan as I straightened myself on the couch. No one was able to offer a hand, since Maggie and Mark were trying their hardest not to hurt me any further. When I was upright, my right cheek was facing Maggie, and she let out a startled gasp at seeing my banged up face for the first time. “What,” Mark said, his anxiety growing again, “what's wrong?” Maggie wasn't able to answer him, so I simply turned my head to face him. Mark only allowed his eyes to give away his emotions. I watched his pupils dilate and saw the pain there. He knew that saying anything negative or becoming angry wouldn't help a thing, so instead I explained where all the bruises came from, “He wanted Emmett's money.” I summed up at the end. Mark couldn't help but let a little anger spill over, “I hate him. I hate to be related to him. I hate him.” He said, repeating it over and over. He always took on my pains as if they were his fault.

          I got up then and made my way to the mirror in the hall, ready to see just how large the bruise would be. There was still dried blood around the gash, but my cheek was already purple. I wet a washcloth and gently pressed it to my face, and that simple gesture caused enough discomfort that I immediately went to the bathroom to find a bottle of Advil. I walked back to the kitchen to find ice, while I noticed Maggie grabbing antiseptic and bandages for, I'm assuming, my back. We both had the same idea, and that was acting quickly so my injuries would heal sooner rather than later. It's hard to believe that just this morning I was enjoying a good read and a warm cup of tea. Now, the rain seemed depressing and I'm sure the binding of my book was ruined once I remembered leaving it upside down on the windowsill.

          “Lay down on the couch again, Grace. Mark, grab me a towel for Grace to bite on if it hurts too bad.” Maggie was used to this. She had been around long enough to understand that there was no way around this. In the beginning, we seriously considered putting him in jail, but other obstacles got in the way, which I'd prefer to not have to openly admit.

          Maggie had lifted up my shirt and found the cut up welts that my father's belt had left along my back. The first thing she did was pour peroxide in them, and I was grateful for the towel, since I'd rather the neighbors didn't hear my screams. “Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay.” Maggie soothed me as she pressed at the cuts with a rag, easing some of the pain. Although Mags appeared to be an abrasive person most of the time, she knew how to take care of these things and I wondered why I was the one going into the medical field. To anyone else, this would seem unusual and extremely stupid, but, being logical, we didn't have to money for a hospital bill, the people there would probably ask questions that I wouldn't answer. These injuries weren't too bad. Maggie had put gauze onto the cuts now, after spreading antiseptic all along my back. She wrapped me up with some medical tape and announced she was done with this part of my body. Next she focused on my face. She took the bag of ice from my hand and dabbed at my cheek with a cloth coated in peroxide. This didn't sting as badly because my face was already partially numb. She did the same routine of antiseptic and gauze with my face, telling me I needed to change them every two hours or so, that way it would heal quicker and prevent infection.