Wren

"I need help here," Boston yells, but he seems so far away.

  He's holding me in his arms and it's so weird that I feel... safe. I know what's going on, somewhat. But I know I've lost a lot of blood and I really messed up. He - the guy who lives down the hallway, in Apartment 308, is holding me with his arm under my neck and under my legs as he rushes into the emergency room.

  "What's happened?" a man asks, but I'm closing my eyes now.

  Boston smells good, like vanilla, and I'm shaking and tired.

  "She... she needs help. I found her in her apartment, screaming..."

  "Let's get her into exam room two."

  I'm being lowered down onto a bed. My head presses against a hard surface. I'm flat on my back and Boston is no longer holding me or touching me. My eyes are still mostly closed. I want  Boston to be near me again.

  "What's her name?" someone asks, and I know my name, but I can't figure out how to say it.

  "Her name is Wren. She's fourteen." Boston's voice answers.

  "How did this happen?" a different voice asks. A doctor, I guess.

  Boston hesitates. "I don't know. I heard her screaming and I..."

  "Step back, please."

  I open my eyes and look around, and Boston is being forced out of the little exam area. My arm hurts, my hand is numb and I know it's bad. Everyone in the room is quiet for a few minutes, as they unwrap the gauze that Boston put on and look at the damage.

  "Wren..." the man asks me, carefully. "What happened?"

  "Just fix it," I say, shaking my head.

  "We're going to help you, Wren. But can you tell me how this happened?" a woman asks, a nurse with a friendly smile.

  Why is she smiling? I feel like I'm dying.

  I shake my head again. "I didn't mean to... I mean... I didn't want to..."

  "Wren, do you know the man who brought you here?" the doctor asks, suddenly far too serious.

  My first reaction is yes, I know him. But honestly, we've only met twice and seen each other a few other times. It's not like I can tell this random doctor that I have a connection to his apartment. That I felt safe in his arms. They wouldn't understand.

  "He lives in my apartment building," I finally say.

  "Where are your parents? Do you have a number we can call them at?" the nurse asks, not smiling anymore.

  Oh God. I didn't think about this at all. I should not have let Boston bring me here. My father hit me and said if I tell anyone I would regret it.  Now I've done this to myself and my father is gone to work and - oh, no.

  "Can you please just stitch it up and let me go home?" I beg, glancing at my arm.

  The nurse is cleaning out the wounds and it hurts and stings but I just stare at it, in awe. What the hell did I do?

  "We can't just let you go on your own. We legally have to release you to your guardian," the doctor says, from the other side of the room.

  "No," I say quickly. "No."

  "Wren... nurse Calla is going to call me back in when she's done cleaning you up... I will talk with you again soon," the doctor goes on.

  He's tall and thin and looks important. Too serious. I know he's going to decide my fate here and that's not good. I watch as he leaves the room and through the glass window I can see him talking to Boston, a minute later.

  Boston looks terrified. I wonder why he cared enough to help me. I wonder why he didn't take off as soon as he dropped me off here. He's still out there in the hallway, now getting questioned by the doctor. They are probably assuming the worst about him, and about everything right now.

   The nurse finishes cleaning up my wrist and arm and a younger doctor, who says they are an intern, comes in and does the stitches. They give me a freezing needle first, but I'm mostly zoned out anyway. I can't believe this is even happening.

*

When the first, older doctor  comes back into my room awhile later, there's a woman with him. She doesn't have a name tag or a doctor's coat, but she has an iPad in her hands. She's got fair skin and light hair, pulled back into a pony tail at her neck. She's young and pretty.

  "Hello, Wren," the woman says, while Dr. Walker stands beside her. "I'm Laney Wilson. Can I ask you some questions?"

  I nod, but I'm not looking at her. I'm looking past her, into the hallway. Boston is gone. I am suddenly in panic mode. I'm pretty sure this woman is either a welfare worker or she's from CPS. Or maybe she's a psyciatrist. 

  "Can you tell me your full name?" she asks without must hesitation.

  "Wren Truman," I say quickly, but I'm still not looking at her.

  "Thanks. And your date of birth?"

  "August fourteenth, twenty-ten."

  "Great, thanks." She types some things into her iPad. She looks at the doctor and shakes her head. "Can you tell me who you live with, and your address?"

   Now I know she's from CPS. It's so obvious. She's looking me up to see if I'm in the system.

  "I live with my father, in an apartment building on 10th Ave," I whisper.

  "Where's your father right now, Wren?" she wants to know.

  I don't even know what time it is, so I have no idea where he is. He could be at the apartment. He could be there, and see the blood and the knife and the mess I made. He could think I'm dead. He could be gone again, for all I know.

  "Work... maybe," I say slowly.

  "How did this happen to your arm?" she asks, suddenly, like she's no longer being patient with me.

  I know if I tell her the truth, it will be bad. I know if I lie, it could be worse. I don't exactly want to go back to that apartment, living on my own or even with my father who's never there. But I am pretty sure I know what happens to kids who try to kill themselves or who admit their parent left them alone for two weeks.

  "I was... I was making something to eat and I... slipped." I say it slowly but I try to make it sound believable.

  It's pretty obvious they don't believe me.

  "What's your father's full name, Wren?" she asks me, typing something on the iPad again.

  "Bradley... Truman."

  "Where does he work? Do you know the number there?" The questions are now coming at me like rapid fire.

  I shake my head. "I don't even know if he... I don't know... and he doesn't have a phone right now."

  "Alright, we're going to try to get a hold of him." She pauses and waits for my reaction. I don't give one. "But if we can't contact him, I'll have to bring you with me to my office."

  "Your office?" I repeat, because I want her to say it.

  "I'm a child welfare worker, Wren. Since you're a minor and you showed up in the hospital like this... and if we can't contact your legal guardian-"

  "No, please, I just want to go home," I say before she can finish her sentence.

  "Wren, you can't go back to your apartment without your legal guardian. The hospital can only release you to your father or to me."

  I know telling her now that I've been on my own a lot over the last month won't help, but I want to scream it out loud. I've been fine. I've been taking care of myself. The only reason I'm here is because Boston heard me crying and brought me here. I shouldn't have asked him for help. I don't want to go anywhere with the CPS worker. I'd probably be dead, though, if Boston hadn't found me.

  I don't say anything else to her, and when they come back an hour later to tell me they couldn't find any way to contact my father, I still remain silent. My mind is racing but I have nothing to say. I know I did this to myself and I will have to deal with the outcome, but I want to take it out on someone else.

  "I told you not to bring me here!" I scream at Boston, when I see him in the hallway awhile later, as I walk with Laney, somewhere. My arm is stitched up and bandaged. I feel fine. I can't believe he's still here all these hours later, but I also need someone to yell at right now. "I hate you, I can't believe you did this."

  "Wren... I'm sorry." Boston's voice is low and quiet and I don't even know why he's apologizing.

  I stop for a moment to really look at him. His hair is a mess and his eyes are dark and sad. He doesn't look as old as he did the last time I saw him. He looks young and scared. Laney is waiting for me a few steps ahead. I know I have to go, but I am suddenly wishing I could talk to Boston more.