NATASIA HAD RUN AWAY FROM HOME AGAIN.

Not really.

She decided she would go back when the arguments died down. There was nothing to dislike about her town at night time, and that's why Natasia didn't mind going out to catch air sometimes.

The cool summer breeze blew through her hair softly as she savoured the satisfying crunch of her shoes on the rocky path. There were still people nearby, smoking and drinking, possibly doing drugs too but that all was already familiar.

She pulled her coat closer to her chest, hoping to walk away unnoticed as she passed close to the group of men. The strong smell of cigarettes drifted in the air, and she mentally recoiled, hoping to get away quick.

But if she walked too fast, they'd notice her.

"She's young yeah," she heard a guy say. "But fuck. She knows how to suck dick."

His comment was followed with boisterous laughter, and Natasia was immediately disgusted. The words clung to her, and she felt dirty.

They'd probably call the girl a slut later. Or whore. Something like that.

"What a slut-"

Only that was missing.

Natasia shut her eyes, blocking her ears as she quickly walked past. People were horrid, it was nothing new, but even then, she could never get used to it.

Fixing everyone was impossible, that was for sure, but sometimes she wished she had that power.

Walking to places at night, without looking proved to be a horrible idea. Natasia had done it by accident, and in her mind, she hadn't walked too far. She knew the place well, it simply couldn't be.

But it had. She was lost. At night, in the middle of nowhere.

Her bottom lip quivered, and she pulled her coat closer to her chest, hands absolutely frozen.

She looked up, absorbing the dimly lit forest. Her eyes widened as her eyes whizzed past her environment- much darker than what she was familiar with but she admired it for some reason. It gave her peace.

The owl hoots in the background combined with the melody of the wind hitting the leaves, the cool breeze, and the leaves beneath her shoes.

And when she walked a little more, she saw a person. Or two. The dim lights didn't help.

One alive, crouching down. And the other lying on the ground, with some dark fluid surrounding their body.

What if it's blood?

Her heart rate jumped at the thought, and she stood there frozen, unable to think. She could run away like she never saw anything in the first place, but that would be evil. Natasia needed to call the police and transport the person to the hospital. Unfortunately, she didn't have a phone in hand, so she decided she'd do the least she can.

Natasia walked closer, tucking her loose locks of hair from her face as she studied the body before her. There was little light for her to see, so she knelt, eyes drinking in a man's bloodied face. She wondered if he was still living.

"Is he living?"

"I don't know," a low, masculine voice replied. His voice itself was intimidating. She didn't want to meet his eyes, or get a glimpse of him, even though it was dark.

His answer didn't satisfy her of course, so she decided to find out herself. She reached out, trying to locate the man's hand when he whimpered in pain. Natasia had accidentally pushed his knee.

"I'm sorry-" but her words came out as a whisper, a broken one because she wasn't sure if the man heard her. Or if the man cared in the first place, surely he just wanted to live. His hand was cold, much colder than what she deemed normal. She turned to the man beside her. "Sir, could you help me here?"

"I need you to uh- apply pressure to his wound- if he has one of-,"

"-He does," the rough voice said, cutting her off. Natasia noticed that he made no efforts to save the man at all.

Men, she thought, tearing a large piece of fabric from her already ruined dress. She passed it to him.

"I'm not sure where he was wounded, but he's bleeding out, and you've been with him longer than I have," she muttered lowly, voice close to cracking from nervousness. "I'd expect you to know where the wound is. Just- wrap it around and press it."

"I know."

It was impossible for her to stay cool that moment. He was actually unbelievable- there was a man with a wound that was bleeding profusely, and he was there, knowing exactly what he needed to save a life and he stayed put.

Natasia stayed silent, and snatched the cloth from the man's hand, fresh tears beginning to sting her eyes for reasons she wasn't aware of.

There was something so off about seeing blood. It scared her.

Using the little light she was provided with, she inched closer to the pool of dark liquid around the man's thigh, which was of course blood, and from that she decided that was where he was bleeding out from. She traced cold skin with her hand, fingers finally stumbling over warm liquid.

Bingo.

She didn't hesitate to wrap his wound. The only thing that scared her then was that he wasn't yelping in pain like she expected him to. The adrenaline reached her head. "Oh my god."

Chest compressions. She needed to do them.

She put her hands on top of one another and placed them on the (now probably dead) man's chest, and pushed three inches deep just like how her mother once taught. She used her entire body weight, pressing hard and rapidly as sweat formed on her forehead.

Natasia was going to cry if this man ended up dead, she was sure of it.

"Come on, come on, come on," she whispered harshly, hopefully— she was praying to god, wanting this man to live. If she pushed any harder she would break his ribs. The man showed no signs of life still, and that's when fresh tears trickled down her face. That was also when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, stopping her from doing anything further.

"He's done for," the raspy voice said, and immediately all of Natasia's hopes came crumbling down. "Don't tire yourself."

"He-he's," Natasia stumbled over her words, in shock and stepped back, realized that the man on the ground was indeed dead- and not breathing. "He's dead."

"Yeah." The raspy voice muttered behind her. That's when she turned around, sniffling, taking a seat on the ground as the pool of blood surrounding the dead man grew larger. She'd make her own peace.

"Fuck." he cursed lowly beside her. Natasia didn't think he wanted her to hear, but she heard it anyway and it caught her attention. The moonlight highlighted his jaw, but more on his arm.

His arm was bleeding. She couldn't believe her eyes.

"This cannot be happening-," she muttered under her breath. Natasia reached into her pocket, and pulled out a scarf she forget she had. "You never told me that existed."

"I didn't think it was necessary."

"You'll bleed out and die like him," Natasia gestured to the dead man in front of her. Her chest tightened at the thought. "I need you to take off your shirt."

Silence.

Natasia's face flushed immediately once she realized. Hopefully he didn't see it.

"I mean- so I can wrap the scarf around."

For a second, it seemed as if the world had paused. He wouldn't listen to her request, and she'd be embarrassed and probably run away and never see him again. She had the scene all planned out in her head, which is why her heart skipped a beat when he obeyed.

His white, bloodstained dress shirt revealed a gunshot wound. Or what looked like one. However, it didn't look deep.

That same area bore a mirage of scars, and Natasia couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them could be. She wanted to ask, but then stopped before the words rolled off her tongue. It wasn't her business anyway.

"This might seem gross, but I need to spit on it because we don't have water," Natasia said. Her cheeks were on fire for god's sake. "May I?"

"Do whatever."

"It might sting. Just bear with me." Natasia said in her usual soft tone, dabbing at the wound with the hem of her dress. She could feel the man's eyes on her, and it made her flush even harder than before. She spit on the wound, just like she said she would, which made him flinch. She looked up, eyes widened. "It shouldn't hurt that much-,"

"I'm okay," he said. "Continue."

She pressed the wound with her cotton dress again, later replaced it with her scarf, and dusted the area around it one last time, hoping to get rid of any dirt if there was any, and her job was finished.

Natasia immediately put distance between them, internally debating on whether she should stay or not. Staying would benefit her in no way, and leaving wouldn't either.

Her uncle would ask why her clothes were bloodstained and she was much too tired to explain it all- and even if she did, he wouldn't understand. The results wouldn't be pretty.

That's not something she wanted to deal with.

But it had to happen anyway.