4 a.m. // Jeggy

Chapter 18

I woke up with a groan to my phone buzzing frantically on my bedside table. I picked up without looking at the time or the name. It was still late enough for it to be dark out.

"Peggy, I don't know what to do." I heard someone whisper from the other line. John?

"John? Is that you?" I muttered, sleep clouding my thoughts and my voice. God, what time was it?

"Yes, listen, please. I didn't know who else to call, you're the only one who knows what's going on with my family and I. I need you to help me." He said. Suddenly, I felt lighting shoot through my body. Something was wrong. Suddenly feeling much more awake but knowing everyone else was asleep, I quietly answered.

"Do you need me there? Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes. Please come if you can, I don't know if I'm okay. I just... I need you to help me. I'll explain when you get here." He said in the softest, most scared voice I've ever heard anyone use.

"I'll be right over, okay? Where in your house are you, how can I get to you?" I asked, putting his button up over the white tank top and black sweatpants I had been sleeping in, knowing I'd be cold if I didn't cover my arms but afraid to make too much noise opening my closet.

"I locked myself in my bedroom. Don't knock on the front door. Listen, if you go in the backyard, there's a fire escape ladder that leads up to my room. My light is on inside, I'll stand by the window so you can see me there." He said. He sounded like he was in pain, the way his voice choked out as he spoke.

"Okay. Okay, just... call me if anything changes or something goes wrong. I'm on my way, alright? I'll be there in a few." I told him. He ended the call and I stuffed my phone in the pocket of my sweats, opening my window as silently as I could and climbing out onto the roof. This was a routine I had gotten down by now, with all my sneaking out to go to James's house.

I quietly walked down the slope of the roof to the point where I could safely jump down into the grass. I looked around to be sure that no one had heard me and sure enough, no lights came on and I didn't hear any noises from the house. I ran through the grass so that my footsteps wouldn't be heard on the driveway, and as soon as I was away from the house, I began to sprint to John's house.

By the time I got about two houses down from his, I was panting and out of breath. I checked the time and saw that it was 4:15 am. Oh my.

I carefully navigated around the house, avoiding any windows or areas that had lights on so nobody could see me. I saw John standing in a window with his light on, and he waved me up to him. I tried to climb the fire ladder as quietly as I possibly could. His window was open and as soon as I entered his room, he pulled me into his chest and hugged me tightly.

"Thank you." He whispered into my hair, and I nodded in response, hugging him back and ignoring my heart doing gymnastics in my chest. Not the time, heart.

We jumped apart when a shattering noise came from downstairs. I heard someone cry out and drunken yelling from who I assumed had to be John's dad. John went to the door and put his ear against it, listening for something. When he apparently did or didn't hear it, he moved away from the door and pulled me over to his bed before lifting the white t-shirt he had been wearing earlier. On his side was quite a large gash, and I didn't know how I didn't notice the blood when I first got here. His chest and sides were littered with huge purple bruises, and I choked back a gasp. Oh my God.

"Peggy, I don't know what to do, I need you to help with it." He said in a hushed voice. I nodded and began to ask how it happened as I got up and began to search his room for something to put over the wound. I settled on an old-looking t-shirt, glancing at him for permission before tearing it into thick strips to put over the wound. As I did this, he began to explain.

"I got home late, and my dad was sitting in the kitchen, drinking the way he always does. I came inside and he jumped up and started yelling at me for being gone all day and coming home so late. My mom was asleep, but he woke her up with all the yelling and she came down to see what was going on," he started. I found a bottle of water on his nightstand and dumped some on part of the ripped t-shirt and began to wipe the cut as he continued.

"He was getting so mad. He started hitting me, which I'm used to. But then he dropped his glass that he was drinking out of, and that just... it sent him over the edge. He started getting so upset over the broken glass, telling me it was my fault. And then he just, picked up one of the shards. I didn't even have time to try to react. And that's how that happened." He said, motioning to his side, which I was struggling to clean.

"Has he ever done that before? Like, attacks like that where you got hurt this bad?" I asked him. He shook his head and winced as I held the cloth against the wound.

"No. It's always been just hitting, which is awful, but this is the worst it's been. He went all out for it, I guess." He laughed humorlessly and sighed. I shook my head, in disbelief on how a father could do this to his child. The wound was awful, it really was. It was pretty deep and bleeding a lot. It stretched from his bottom rib all the way down to the top of his pants. I knew there'd be a scar there once it healed.

"John, do you have anything in here, any bandages or anything that I could put over this?" I asked, still holding the t-shirt against him. My hands were covered in blood.

"Check the third drawer in the nightstand, I think there's a first aid kit in there." He said. I told him to hold the t-shirt tightly against the wound as I moved to grab the kit from his drawer. I quietly opened it up and took out some antibacterial cream, gauze and bandages, but I knew that these bandages were far too small to cover up this whole wound.

I wiped the wound with water once more before having him lay on his side so the blood wouldn't keep running down onto his pants. I dabbed some of the antibacterial cream on the wound and he winced. I apologized quietly before continuing, picking the biggest bandages and putting a few over the wound, wrapping gauze around them over it. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I just did what seemed like the best choice. Hopefully, this thing wouldn't get infected or bleed through the gauze and bandages.

Just as I began to wipe my hands on the t-shirt, a kid bang came from outside John's door, as well as some yelling.

"John Henry Laurens, you'd better open this door now!" His father screamed, banging at the door and continuing to yell.

Shit.