“Thank you.
”
he said quietly, “You’re very kind.” Slowly, his eyelids fell, and his head nodded, the resulting movement jerking him awake.
I smiled, “Come on, I’ll take you to the guest room.”
He nodded, yawning, “Thank you.”
G
ot him settled in the guest room, you know, folding down the blankets and turning on the lamp, etc.
He moved very deliberately, like he thought his actions out completely before following through with them. With those same measured movements, he sat down on the bed, and shifte
d his legs under the covers. M
ade a note of this because his slow carefulness seemed noteworthy. It was interesting.
His hands shook as he gathered the blankets around
him; he was shivering. R
ealised he was shaking because of the pain. All those bruises and cuts, of course he was in pain.
Hastily, I ran to the bathroom, and grabbed the first-aid kit and a bottle of acetaminophen from the cupboard. When I returned, he was lying extremely still, flat on his back. It seemed he was holding his breath.
Leaned
down beside the bed, touching his arm gently. “Noah…”
He looked at me, his eyes barely open.
“You’re in pain, do you want to go to the hospital?” I looked at some of the cuts, aware of the tiny beads of blood collecting in the deep gashes, “We probably should… some of these could use stitches.”
He shook his head, “Questions… too many questions.”
“They’re important questions, though. If someone has hurt you, they should answer for it. This is… assault. It’s illegal.”
At this, his eyes opened a little wider. The way he looked at me, I could see the desolation in his eyes.
“They won’t believe it even if I told them.” He said
,
his tone lowered in utter defeat. “They didn’t.”
I leaned
closer
, “I would believe you.”
His eyes slid shut, “I doubt it.”
D
idn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing, instead busying myself with opening the first-aid kit and taking out several gauze pads, butterfly bandages, and a roll of dressings.
T
ook his forearm in my hand gently, supporting it with my fingers spread out to disperse weight. He watched in silence as I placed one side of the butterfly bandage down, and pulled the gaping wounds shut one by one.
Then, to keep him from jostling the open cuts too
much,
I placed pads of gauze over each cut, and wrapped his arms up with the dressing.
Moving to his chest and neck was more difficult; I used the butterfly bandages, and taped gauze over them.
Mostly because the weird angles of the cuts prevented me from wrapping them properly.
Or maybe I just need more practice with this sort of thing.
Realised
he was falling asleep without taking an acetaminophen. Shaking him, I handed him two of the pills, and sat him up, hurrying to the washroom to get a glass of water.
G
ave him the glass of water, which he emptied oddly quickly. After finishing it, he slid further down into the bed, nuzzli
ng his face into the pillow. P
ulled the blankets over his shoulder, smoothing it down his sides.
He was whispering something
,
I leaned closer to hear
.
“…
thank
you, thank you, thank you…”
T
urned off the lamp, standing in the darkness beside him. “You’re welcome.”
So I’ve known him personally for about two weeks. Impersonally, (like when I dream) I’ve known him for years.
Since I was about twelve I think.
S
till find it hard to believe he’s just in the next room. I plan to sleep in the living room so I can be closer to him overnight, just in case.
Terra is working the late
r
shift at the hospital tonight, so I wanted to be nearby, if she, for whatever reason, looked in at the guest room.
This was all part of my clever plan to ensure that Noah has the best, most undisturbed sleep of his life, you see.
Terra should be home momentarily, I noted, reading the digital display on the microwave.
11
:21 p
m
A few minutes later, as expected, I heard Terra come in, followed by the familiar
thunk
of her purse/backpack hit the floor and the lock turn.
She stepped deliberately down the hallway, keeping quiet until she rounded the corner and saw me busying myself with filling the kettle.
“Good
evening
, Terra!” I turned around after setting the kettle up, “Your customary cup of tea is on its way!”
She smiled feebly, obviously worn out, “Ah, Aerian, what would I do without you?”
“You’d go to bed without tea, have dirty clothes, live in squalor, and would eat take-out every night.”
She chuckled, rubbing
her forehead. “Ahh, true. So, w
hy is there a bed made up in the living room, anyway?”
The kettle burbled behind me, “Oh, I have a guest, so I’m staying in the living room in case he gets up.”
She arched her eyebrows, “Who?”
“Noah Talon.”
Her expression of surprise morphed into a frown, “Talon? Like the
businessman
’s son?
Of the absurdly rich Talon family?
Doesn’t he have some huge estate he can stay at? Why’s he here? Little rich kid taking advantage of you, Aerian?”
Apparently, she had met the patriarch of the family on her first day at the new hospital, and he rubbed her the wrong way.
That dislike for the patriarch evidently extended to his family as well.
“Terra, please! He’s my friend.”
She gave me a disbelieving look, her distaste for the Talon name all too obvious.
I turned back to the counter, preparing her tea; two sugars, stir it up.
I bit my lip, “And… he needed my help.”
“Couldn’t he hire a servant?”
“Terra!” I scolded, setting her tea down, and sitting down across from her, “You don’t have to instantly hate him just because of his surname! He’s really sweet, and he needed my help!”
“What did he need?”
T
hought about my response for a few seconds while Terra sipped at her tea, finally coming up with an adequate response.
“Sanctuary.” I said eventually.
“Sanctuary? From what?”
“I don’t know. He… couldn’t tell me.”
“Well, where is he?
The spare room?
I’ll go ask him. Probably nothing.” She got up decisively, and, ignoring my protests, crossed the hall and opened the door to the spare room.
Before I could get in the door, she had turned on the light and was at his bedside.
She was just standing there, looking at him. I followed her gaze to the wounds on his neck, his face. Morbidly captivated.
He was lying on his back, his left arm on top of the blankets. The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only assurance he wasn’t dead, it seemed. He looked even worse now. She reached forward slowly, touching the swollen bruises beneath his left eye, her expression softening.
K
new what she was thinking…
“It’s nothing.”
His breath hitched at her touch, he shifted in his sleep, wincing.
Terra looked down, following the trail of wounds down his pale face to his neck. A couple of the wounds were seeping tiny drops of blood onto my t-shirt, the collar almost saturated. She pulled the blankets further down, revealing the rest of the damage.
A particularly deep wound on his right forearm was bleeding steadily through the bandages, soaking into the sheets beside him.
She swallowed,
then
looked to his face again, studying the tiny flickers of pain that altered his expression.
“Aerian. Why didn’t you take him to the hospital? He needs medical attention.”
F
elt a hot blush rise in my face, “I- I… he wouldn’t…” I stammered, realising how incredibly stupid I was being. “I thought…”
“Go start the car.” She said in what I knew to be her ‘nurse’ voice.
N
umbly hurried to the car, my mind swirling. I just let him go to sleep like that, bleeding all over the bed.
Thank… whatever for making Terra so brash. If she hadn’t wondered, he would have…
I swallowed, started the car, and ran full pelt back to the house.
Terra had woken Noah up, and was now leading him down the hallway with one of the blankets wrapped around him.
“I’m sorry, I’m
sorry
…” he repeated, leaning heavily into Terra’s hold. “Aerie, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, honey. Come on.” Terra said softly, urging him along.
“I don’t want to go back. I escaped, but I don’t want to go back.” He faltered, slumping down further, “I’ll die if I go back there.”
166 Days, 14 September, Sunday
Today, I’m writing in the hospital. We took Noah here last night, and
I slept in the uncomfortable chair at his bedside. Terra went home, but I insisted on staying with him until he woke up.
More than one person has commented on how exhausted I look. Maybe I’ll skip school tomorrow and sleep.
He was awake at about ten-thirty, looking confused and tired.
“
What…?”
He looked at me curiously, “Where am I?”
“Central Hospital, Emergency Wing, Curtain 4.” I said, smiling warmly at him.
His eyes widened at this, and he shoved the blankets off him, making to get out of the bed. “No, not a hospital.
Questions, questions.
You have to let me go!” His voice became frantic, he was nearly on his feet, wincing at the pain in his leg. “He’ll kill me if-!”
He stopped, sucking in a deep breath, and covered his mouth with his hands. I stepped closer to him curiously.
T
hought maybe he was going to cough, but he shook his head, whispering to himself. “…
said
too much, said too much.”
“Noah, you can’t leave yet.” I carefully chose my words, avoiding questions; he seems to have something against questions. “You’ve got to explain what happened to you for the file.”
“No, it’ll get found out.” He looked at me with pleading eyes, “If I get discovered here, I’ll be in trouble. Please let me go.” He grabbed my arm, his emotions shooting up my arm and drilling into my heart.
There’s something different about when he touches me. Normally, for that empathy power (or whatever you’d call it) to work, I have to be touching the person close to their face or neck. He seems to just force emotions into me from anywhere. Weird. And all that he was giving off right now was…
Fear.
That was all. Maybe there was something else, but I couldn’t sense it through all that fear.
“Tell me why you can’t tell me.” I said shakily, fighting off the terror surging through me.
“Because if I tell you… you’ll try to do something about it. You can’t win against…” he fell quiet, biting his lip. “I
gotta
go. I’m sorry.” He brushed past me, bowing his head to hide his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
After he was gone, I just stood t
here, and then glanced at his chart at the end of the bed
. I looked it over, reading the lists of damage he had sustained. 71 stitches total, over eight major wounds.
Low blood pressure, some vitamin deficiencies.
Then, at the bottom, in the comments sections, in Terra’s handwriting:
Suspected continued abuse, fractures and deep-set bruising on chest and back.
Evidence of malnutrition and sleep deprivation.
Mental state deeply traumatised, he would not answer questions pertaining to his injuries.
Contact police to file a report of assault and/or abuse.
Contact police. This was important enough to call the police.
I want to know who did this to him. God, do I ever want to know.
But now, I might as well go home…
Dr. Stevens drove me home,
since he was just on his way home too
. Any other day I might be all fluttery being in the car with him (he’s very attractive), but today, I just slept all the way.
On his shoulder, apparently.
Hehehe
.
Sleep. Finally.
In my own bed.
I hope Noah got home okay. I’m sort of loopy now,
sleeeeeep
.
165 Days, 15 September, Monday
C
an’t believe I was sleeping on Dr. Stevens.
Aggh
. So I did go to school today, and barely managed to stay awake. My English teacher, Ms. Trumpeter, asked me if I was up late with friends last night, which I found odd.