I hissed when the antiseptic flooded the wound, grunting with relief when the initial burn faded to a tolerable level. My torso was covered in dozens of deep scratches that would require stitches. I wrapped myself tightly in a bedsheet before heading to Brian’s place.
“I told you not to come back here,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, frowning at me from behind his horn rimmed glasses. The blood loss made me weave in his hall, and grab for the wall to hold me up. He couldn’t see the damage under my loose fitting clothing. “And you’re drunk, too? Pathetic.”
Despite his anger, he caught me on the way down to the black. “Sorry,” I managed, meaning it in so many ways that it added to my dizziness to think of how I had hurt this man. Kneeling on the floor of his hallway, he felt the blood soak through, and cover his hand.
“What have you done?” he asked, his anguished tone cutting me deeper than any blade ever could. I wanted to answer him, he deserved to know he was safe now, but I couldn’t find the words. You’re safe now, I thought as the black cradled me, making it all seem so distant, and unimportant in comparison to the softness surrounding me. I can go now, I felt it in my bones, the peace of it better than anything I had ever known. I was almost through to the other side when his voice cut through the velvet darkness filling me up.
“Come back, please. Don’t leave me.”
(c) J. A. Brown, Storyteller- February 7, 2017