groans, his head leaned back on the cushion, eyes closed. I’m not fully certain that he’s still conscious.
“No, of course not,” Vic scoffs, like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Let’s get him in the van and take him to Whitney’s house.”
“Nurse Yes-Scott?!” I choke out, but it’s the obvious choice. She’ll have heard from Vaughn by now about what happened. She’ll know her ass is on the line. What choice will she have but to help us? Besides, she was hired at Prescott for a reason. Most schools don’t need trauma nurses with gunshot wound experience. In the southside, it’s practically a requirement. “Fuck. Fine. Let’s get him outside.”
I stand up, still shaking with the rush of adrenaline, still covered in blood.
“Oscar, you stay with the girls,” Vic commands, and I just know I’m not going anywhere either until I know they’re alright. I pull away from Aaron and walk backwards for a moment, bumping into Victor. He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans down to put his mouth near my ear. “Don’t worry about Aaron: I won’t let anything happen to him.” His lips press against the side of my neck, branding me in a way I can never wash off. “I’ll even stitch him up before we leave to stem the flow; take a quick shower and get that blood off of you.”
Even though it probably shouldn’t, his voice comforts me, and I nod, heading up the stairs and cracking the door to the girls’ room. All three of them are fast asleep, like maybe they never knew Neil was here in the first place. I stand there for several minutes, watching Heather’s chest rise and fall with steady breaths, and then I slip back out and duck into the bathroom.
Blood is not the easiest substance to wash off. It’s sticky and viscous, and it clings to the skin like paint. By the time I get out of the shower, my skin is pink and irritated, and the spot where Billie stabbed me is throbbing and oozing fresh crimson, soaking the black t-shirt I stole from Aaron’s dresser. At least you can’t see the stain, and right now, that’s good enough for me.
“You’re hurt,” Oscar says when I step out of the bathroom. He’s standing in front of me, shirtless and wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants. His tattooed chest and belly are on full display, and if circumstances were different, I’d very much appreciate the view. My breath catches as he reaches out and presses his thumb against the spot on my right sleeve, making me hiss between gritted teeth as he pulls his finger back, stained with blood. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?”
“No time. I’ll worry about it when I get back.” I move to shove past him when he reaches out and snatches my upper arm in tight fingers, making me cry out. More blood oozes out and dribbles down my arm. With his other hand, Oscar traces the wound on my face, the one I’m too afraid to look at because I know it’s going to scar.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he says, pushing me back into the bathroom and forcing me onto the closed lid of the toilet. I’m getting mad déjà vu here from when Victor stitched up my arm, looking up at Oscar’s gray eyes through the thick lenses of his glasses. I sneer at him as he pulls a first aid kit out from under the sink, but I don’t have the energy to protest. Oscar turns back to me and shoves my shirtsleeve up, making me gasp. He’s not at all gentle as he goes about inspecting the wound. “You really could use a hospital visit as well. Have that bitch nurse take a look at this while you’re over there.”
“Aaron is the one who needs help. Slap a bandage on it and let me get out of here.” This bone-weary fatigue washes over me, and my lids close of their own accord. My entire body hurts from the fight, and I’m bruised all over. Strong fingers touch the underside of my jaw, lifting my face up. I open my eyes to find Oscar staring down at me.
“Chin up, Bernadette. There is no rest for the wicked.” He releases me and tackles both wounds with an antiseptic wipe as Hael pops in the door, worrying at his lower lip. Some of the black hair dye still stains his red faux hawk as he reaches