Page 36 of Desolation
As I move to put her shoes down on the floor and zone back out of my head, my gaze catches on the fresh blood on the arm that was cradling Lana and my eyes widen.
Oh shit!
I completely forgot about her wounded back. What if she fainted from the blood loss? I don’t remember her bleeding enough to faint but—
I debate ringing reception and requesting a doctor but we can’t afford the fees right now. I’m fucking more than happy to go bankrupt to make sure she’s okay but if she thinks the doctor visit was pointless when she wakes up, I’m a goner.
I might be the makeshift leader of the group but everyone knows she’s the real boss of this gang.
I can only know for sure what the right call is after I assess her back but the idea of taking her shirt off without her permission, despite the seriousness of the situation, has me pacing and wearing holes into the carpet. I know she has PTSD flashbacks from her childhood that she has never fully opened up about. What if she wakes up while I’m cleaning her and it triggers her? We’ve been through enough today. None of us can deal with that right now.
My mind works overtime to come up with a solution and finally lands on a happy medium. I head to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water. Grabbing the soap off of the porcelain sink, I drape a towel over my shoulder and head back to her side.
Gently, I roll her onto her stomach and lift her shirt as high as it can go.
What the hell…
I double take at the sight of the wound. Surely, it was bigger than that? I remember it being twice the size when it originally happened.
I shake my head, rationalizing that I was hallucinating the extent of the injury because of the stress of the day. Well, that’s one less problem to deal with. At least now I won’t have to face certain death at her hands if she decided I overreacted by calling the doctor.
Untying her bikini string leaves her back bare to me and I take a moment to take in her beautiful, hourglass figure. The way her waist dips, her hips flare—she’s perfect.
Taking the washcloth in hand, I begin to wipe up the blood in small sections, starting from her upper back, careful not to pull and aggravate the wound. Fresh and dried blood alike paint the wound and stain the washcloth, quickly rendering it unusable.
I get up to retrieve a fresh washcloth and almost fall flat on my ass a bad case of vertigo hits me. I place a hand against the wall to stay upright.
What the hell was that?
I shake my head when the moment passes and make my way back to the bathroom to grab a fresh washcloth. I head back to Lana and finish cleaning and drying the wound.
Satisfied, I decide to leave her shirt up so the skin can air dry and isn’t exposed to the dirty shirt again.
I head to the bathroom to shower, fantasies of falling into bed and sleeping to escape life play in my head.
I strip off my stiff clothes, trying not to think about how they’re stained with the blood of the only two women I’ve ever loved. Fantasies of sleep are replaced by fantasies of acquiring lighter fluid and setting them on fire—and our old house and the world while I’m adding to the list. I want no memories of this night but I know it will be ingrained in my mind forever.
In the absence of lighter fluid and a suitable set-all-the-shit-on-fire environment, I settle on throwing them in the small trash can and turn the water to hot. As steam fills the small room, I step into the shower.
The hot water scalds my skin but I barely register the pain I should be feeling. My attention is on the water tinging red, running into the drain. I can’t stop staring. Is that Beth’s blood I’m washing away or Lana’s?
Holding in the scream that threatens to rip from my throat, I grab onto the sponge and scrub until it feels like I’ve scrubbed all the layers of skin away. I wash my hair three times and go to wash it again but my hands fall lifeless at my sides. Falling to my knees, I battle with the overwhelming grief that threatens to take away my breath. Why can’t I clean my mind of the memories like I can my body? Fuck, can I even live with this pain on top of all the rest I already carry? Can I put my family back together?
There’s so much to do, so much to fix.
How will we live? How will I provide for my family?
I’m the one with the plan, the one who protects.
What the fuck is going to happen to us if my mind’s gone blank and my heart won’t stop racing?
I held it together when one of us needed to make the sensible decision and someone needed to stand up and take care of us. But now that I’m alone...
The gates on my emotions burst open and I don’t try to stop it. Folding into myself, I try to hold in the sound of my sobs to avoid waking Lana but I can’t stop them from wracking my body as the loss of Beth devastates me.
She was so full of love, so full of kindness. The one who taught us all how to trust. When the world had broken us down, she picked up all the pieces, leaving nothing behind, and put us back together.
I’m ready to shatter again if it will just bring her back to us—but I already am in her absence.
