Page 12 of Haunt Me

Nothing. The crying doesn’t stop either. Now I’m kind of scared, kind of curious, and fully invested. I step up to her slowly, and it only now occurs to me that not only can I breathe, but I can speak as well. The panic has all but disappeared–and so has the crying. Well, mine.

I was crying as I ran. I kind of am crying still. My cheeks are still drenched in tears. I ignore them.

I won’t admit I was crying even to myself, so we’re moving past it. Now I’ve stopped; it’s just her crying. And I want to do something about it—I want to save her from whatever is hurting her, the way that no one was there to help me when I was crying this morning. And last night. And last morning. And right now. And in general.

“Hey,” I whisper, towering over her.

This can’t possibly help. But I see now that I’m closer that she is not a child. This is no kid. She must be fifteen or sixteen like me.

“May I see your face?” I whisper, or I just think it.

I don’t know which. My whole body is frozen.

Lower goes the head, and she gathers her knees closer to her chest, making herself even smaller. I didn’t know that there was apiece of my heart that was still whole enough to be shattered, but I swear I break a little bit more as I watch her.

“Don’t be scared,” I say impulsively, taking a step back. “I’m just a student here. Do you go here?”

She is not wearing the school uniform, yet the woods are miles away from the neighborhoods of white, two-story houses and expensive cars. She looks like she came straight out of one of these houses. What is she doing all the way over here?

She must have walked. And with her knee hurt like that? The blood is still wet. I can’t stand to look at it.

“Do you need help?” I ask her. “Hey, wait.”

She wasn’t going anywhere anyway, but it doesn’t look like she can afford to wait any longer. A thick ribbon of blood is spilling down her bare calf, then soaking her sock and dripping to the ground. I don’t know how much blood a person has to lose in order to bleed out (not to be too dramatic or anything), but I’m not waiting to find out.

I drop to my knees. I reach out to wipe the blood, but I stop. You shouldn’t touch blood with your bare hands, right? I read that somewhere, I think. I need something, a rag, or… Oh, I know. I take off my sweater and quickly untuck my white shirt from my pants. I grab the soft fabric of my T-shirt underneath, ripping the bottom half in one swift motion.

It's like something out of a movie, except it’s like nothing out of a movie.

It’s messy and the rip is uneven, with threads sticking out on all sides, and I’m shaking so badly I don’t even know I managed to rip out a huge chunk of cloth so fast. Maybe my fingers have gotten stronger due to all that gripping of the strings of my guitar and violin I have been doing secretly at night.

I quickly tear a smaller piece to wipe the blood with, so that I can see the extent of the gash. I don’t touch her skin. I’m careful not to touch her, except with my fingers securely wrapped inside the white piece of my torn shirt.

She doesn’t react at all, as the ripped cotton soaks up the blood, turning crimson red within seconds. It’s as if she doesn’t even realize I’m there.

I rip out more pieces of my shirt and just keep working quietly, kneeling next to her, while she hides behind her hair. At one point she stops sobbing, but I can still feel her shaking. I can still see the fat drops of tears falling from her eyes to her clasped hands. I don’t talk to her. I barely breathe so that I won’t scare her.

Then I stop trying to mop up the blood: it’s too much. I’ll just have to concentrate on binding her knee.

“I’m going to touch you now, is that ok?” My voice is shaky.

She doesn’t reply, she doesn’t move, she doesn’t do anything.

But.

She stops trying to make herself smaller. She stops hugging her knees. She goes still and lets me touch her.

She lets me help her. Which is all I need.

The minute I touch her bare skin, I’m jolted with a rush of electricity. It’s so sudden, I fumble and nearly drop the piece of clean cotton to the ground, but I catch it at the last minute. I take a shaky breath.

I wasn’t expecting that she would be trembling so much.

I wasn’t expecting my skin to go white-hot just by coming into contact with her.

I wasn’t expecting that just touching her skin would affect me so much.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

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