Boston

Jackson: Dude, can you come in today? Matt is sick.

  I was already planning on going to Swirlies this afternoon, but not to work. It's Saturday and I was planning on tracking down this co-signer and trying to get the loan extended. There's also bills to pay and a food order coming in at 5P.M. that I have to sign for.

  I'll be there at 3P.M,  I answer the text.

  I spend half the next day watching crappy TV and then make a sandwich before even getting dressed and leaving the apartment. I am not in the mood to deal with all the difficult business stuff today, but I did this to myself. Somehow, I don't think Jackson knows about me having sex with Lauren. Maybe she's actually kept it to herself. It's only been a few days but I've been avoiding everyone because I don't want to deal with that, either.

  I'm heading down towards the staircase when I hear someone crying. It's loud and impossible to ignore. I turn and walk past a few apartment doors to try to find out which one it's coming from, and when I stop in front of apartment 301, it's very obvious.

  I knock before I know what I'm doing.

  The crying stops for a second but then continues, but no one comes to the door. I knock again. It's not a little kid or baby crying - it's like a terrible, horrible sob. A wail. I can't walk away not knowing if the person is okay, so I knock a third time.

  I hear the lock on the door making a noise and then I am turning the door knob before I can stop myself. I push open the apartment door and freeze. I have no idea what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

  It's the girl. The girl who knocked on my door two weeks ago, looking for her friend. It's the girl who I bumped into a few days ago and knocked her groceries out of her arms. I saw her yesterday morning, too, and she couldn't get away from me fast enough. It's her, but what I'm seeing is like a horrific scene from a movie.

  Her face is pale as a ghost and she's still scream-crying, taking in quick, short breaths. My eyes dart around and I see blood on the floor, in puddles. My brain can't comprehend what is happening.

  Finally, I meet her eyes with mine.

  They aren't confused. They aren't even sad. She's terrified.

  "Help me. Please," she wails, and that's when I notice her wrist.

  Her left hand moves away from where it was covering her right wrist and it's pouring blood. It's spraying. I take about three seconds to think and try to get past the shock of this and then I spring into action.

  I rip off my sweater and quickly wrap it around her arm, tying it as tight as I can. Then I scoop her up and back up through the doorway and rush down the hallway. Unlocking my apartment is difficult with her in my arms, still crying, but I manage. The heavy door slams closed behind me and I move fast, to put her down on my futon. 

  When I look at her now, she looks close to passing out. Shit.

  "Hey... stay with me, okay? I'm going to call an ambulance, but I'll-"

  "No," she says quietly, but quickly. "I can't go to the hospital."

  "You have to," I say, shaking my head.

  "I don't know when he's coming back..." she mumbles, her eyes closing.

  "Stay awake," I shout at her, frustrated.

  I run down to the bathroom and grab some gauze and medical tape from my cabinet, and when I make my way back to her, she's staring blankly in front of her. Her dark eyes are mostly closed and her hair is down and all around her face, messy. She's wearing a grey t-shirt and cotton shorts, and white socks.

  "I'm tired," she whispers.

  "No," I say loudly, then shake her shoulder a bit. "Hey... look at me. My name is Boston. What's your name?"

  She glances at me, her eyes moving slowly. "Wren."

  "Wren... please... I have to get you to the hospital. You need stitches," I tell her, hoping she'll agree this time.

  "I can't... he can't find out..." she says, and then looks at her arm, which I'm starting to unwrap. She sucks in a breath and squeezes her eyes closed.

  My sweater is saturated with blood. She's lost a lot of it. My heart is beating way too fast and I know I'm not cut out to deal with this. I'm always in over my head, it seems.

  "Who can't find out?" I ask her, trying to stay calm.

  I'm ripping the gauze out of the package.

  "My father."

  I glance back up at her face while I move the sweater away and put pressure on the cuts, with the gauze. That's when I see the bruise on her cheek and the cut on her lip. Someone has really hurt her.

  "He did this to you?" I ask her, angry and shocked. "Your father hurt you?"

  "Not... this..." She looks at her arm. "I did this."

  She... what? She cut her own wrist? Oh, my god.

  "Hey... Wren... how old are you?" I ask, now wrapping medical tape around the thick layers of gauze, praying it will stop the bleeding for now.

  "Fourteen," she says easily. "Who are you?"

 "I'm Boston," I repeat.

  "No... I mean... why are you here? Where is Julianna?"

  I already told her about me moving into the apartment and her friend moving out. That was weeks ago. Now she's looking around the apartment like she recognizes it, but not me. She's lost so much blood, she must be confused.

  "Is Julianna your friend? You haven't heard from her?" I ask instead.

  "She was my only friend. She left. Why do people always leave?"

  Her eyes are closing again, and I'm freaking out. The bleeding isn't pouring through the gauze or bandages, but I'm no doctor. I know she needs to get it looked at, but I know I can't be the one to take her. It would look pretty damn suspicious if a random neighbour brought a fourteen year old to the hospital like this.

  "Stay awake, Wren. I'm going to call for an ambulance-"

  "No, please. I'd rather die." Her voice is too quiet, she's not able to stay awake.

  It's Saturday, it's the middle of the day and I'm supposed to be at Swirlies. But here I am, trying to figure out what the hell to do. A minute later, I decide to take her to the hospital myself, and that I'll deal with the rest later.