Page 11 of Unexpected Hero

Was my real mom a klutz? Or my dad? I guess no matter how much I want to know about them, I never will. That hurts almost as much as my nose.

My phone starts ringing.

It hasn’t been ten minutes. Stella can fuck off. She probably wants to see the blood. Sick lizard-loving goth queen.

Turning the water on, I rinse away some of the carnage. I toss some on my face to clean it off so I can see what the fuck is going on and make sure I still have the same number of holes on my face as I had before the brick fell on me.

Brick. Phone. Same difference.

With each handful of water I toss on my skin, my nose, mouth, and jaw come clean instantly, but before the water stops dripping, bright red fluid replaces the clear. Damn. Maybe my nose is broken. The only other time it bled this much was when I broke it.

The phone starts ringing again.

Son of a bitch.

I need to answer before she calls for an ambulance. Then she’ll post about it on the TC, and everyone back home will know that my klutz streak lives on after leaving town.

Surveying the counter, I try to identify something I can use to stop the bleeding or at least catch it so I can get to my phone without staining the carpet.

Well, staining it worse than it already is. Let’s be real. Mine is unlikely the first blood to splatter on these disgusting floors.

A contouring blending sponge catches my attention. Sponges are absorbent, right?

With the sponge in one hand, I use my other hand to cup more water and splash it on my face so I can see which side is bleeding.

Okay, so it’s not both nostrils that are bleeding. Just the right side. Good.

One more splash of water, and I follow it up by quickly shoving the makeup sponge against the affected nostril.

Ouch!

Pain. So much freaking pain.

I can’t hold back my scream. That fucker flies out of my mouth. “Jesus in the morning!”

No sponge. Bad sponge.

Oh that freaking hurt. Like stubbing your toe on the corner of the bed while simultaneously clanking your funny bone on the corner of the door. That’s the kind of pain we’re talking about here. My nose is definitely broken.

Both of those things I’ve done in the last twenty-four hours, by the way.

I feel funny.

I’m in a cold sweat. The room is spinning. Vision getting hazy.

Oh my farking gosh. I’m going to pass out.

Instead of falling to my death in this dirty hotel room, I stumble into the bathroom and lower to my knees before lying on the towel I left spread out on the floor after my shower.

Being a tad sloppy paid off. I can pass out on a semi-clean towel instead of this nauseating floor.

The phone rings again.

The throbbing of my nose slowly abates until I no longer feel like I’m on death’s door.

Since I’ve already bled all over my floor towel, I might as well use it to sop up the blood so I can get my phone. I need to look up what to do to stop a bloody nose that’s probably broken. Do I lean back or forward? Should I get ice? Heat? Do I need to touch my nose again? If I do, I’d rather die instead.

With the towel bunched up, I hold it lightly against my nose and crawl on my knees out of the bathroom, then use the sink to pull myself up. When I get to the phone, it’s ringing again.

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