Page 17 of Being Us (Next Generation 4)

I was afraid he would say that. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“Not happening,” he bit out.

“The knife could have hit something vital,” I argued.

“It didn’t or I would be dead already. It just hurts like a bitch and the blood loss is not boding well for me.”

“The hospital would be a better place for you,” I insisted.

“I can’t go to the hospital. I’ve been stabbed. They’ll ask questions.”

“I’m sure they won’t.” But I didn’t know if that would be the case or not. I was trying to reassure him that he would be fine. They would operate or whatever else they needed to do, and he could leave.

“Sew me up. Please.”

I laughed. “I am not sewing you up, Tanner.” I was experienced in sewing up wounds, but it didn’t mean that I actually liked doing it.

“Do it,” his voice was firm, but he wasn’t talking down to me or treating me as a kid like Sammy did half the time. “Please,” Tanner’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “I don’t want to bleed all over your floor.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking shallow breaths.

“Alright, Tanner.” I took a deep breath. There was clearly no sense in arguing with him. “I’m going to save your life.” I jumped to my feet and ran to the bathroom. Grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink, I rushed back to where Tanner was sitting at the dining room table and dropped the bag on top of the table. “This is going to hurt.”

“Don’t care.” He ran a hand through his hair, slowing his breathing. “Can’t be any worse than this.”

“How did you end up in this area?” I asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

“I walked. I ended up blacking out a few times I think, so I don’t really remember much. Just…” His voice became thick. Oh God, did he lose someone? Was there someone else hurt?

“Are you alone?” I whispered.

He nodded.

“Did someone else get hurt?” I asked gently.

He nodded again, looking down at his hands on his lap.

Getting an idea, I went to the liquor cabinet that my parents kept stocked for whenever we had people over. I looked through it until I found the bottle of Mezcal my parents brought back from Mexico a couple of years ago.

Heading back to Tanner, I sat beside him and twisted off the cap before handing the bottle to him. “Take a swig of this.”

Without asking me what it was, he did as he was told. “Fuck.” He coughed, taking another swig and letting out a soft sigh. “That shit’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s the strongest thing we have.” I placed the bottle on the coffee table and started rooting through the first aid kit.

“Have you done this before?” Tanner asked, trying with one arm to take off his hoodie.

“Here, let me help.” Together, we got his hoodie off without causing him more pain. When we got it off of him, I placed it on the table. I turned back to him, swallowing a gasp. Scars lined his torso. Small jagged lines sat on his abdomen, disappearing beneath his jeans.

“Hey,” he barked.

My eyes snapped to his.

“I asked you a question,” he said, his voice rough. The liquor brought some of the color back to his cheeks, but it was still a matter of time before the liquor no longer helped.

“To answer your question, Tanner. No. I have not done this before, but I have seen a bunch of movies.” I shrugged. “This is no different, right?”

He stared at me. “You’re kidding.”

“Stop being a jerk and I’ll tell you. You showed up here, asking for my help. So, either you be nice to me or you can leave and find someone else to sew up your booboo.”

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