Martha
Blood was running from the wound on my shoulder, and that was what reminded me that I was having a bad day. I glance over my shoulder, making sure that the man isn’t still chasing me, before ducking off the side of the road to hide. Blood runs down my arm, and I clamp my hand tightly over it to try to stifle the bleeding, at least enough that I could keep from leaving a blood trail. My mind flashes back to the moment he had pulled out the knife, and all my skills, trained by years on the street, had vanished, leaving me terrified and defenseless. The money, the handful of dollars from my job now tucked nice and safely in my backpack, next to my Harry Potter book, hadn’t been worth it. It should have been, but it wasn’t worth it, since now, I wasn’t pretty sure I could get far enough that I could buy any food anyway. The blood from my shoulder refuses to stop as I stand up, though it slows a little, as I stumble down the street. I know how I must look, with my right shoulder and arm covered in blood and my skin filthy, every bone showing through my pale skin. I manage to raise my head, seeing a house a few hundred yards away. It’s a small house, well-kept, even though it’s clearly run-down and old. I actually laugh, though, when I see the colors. The house is rainbow colored, with a blue door. I let out a soft whimper, stumbling my way to the house, feeling my vision waning as I move, before slumping down onto the doorstep with a soft whimper. I manage to raise my hand to hit the doorbell button, though I give a soft whimper as I feel my body move in a way that hurts. I hear footsteps coming, hear the blue door open, feel hands on my shoulders. It’s that, the agony in my shoulder when the hand touches it, that finally breaks my consciousness.
Linda
I stare down at the figure on my doorstep in shock, unsure of what to do. Her face is pale, hand still locked over her shoulder, her right side covered in blood and grime. I kneel, tentatively touching her shoulders, grimacing when the last of the fight goes out of her and she all but collapses. I draw her to my chest, ignoring the way her ribs are so visible that they dig into my chest when I carry her, and manage to get her to the bathroom, where I settle her against the wall. Her hand, even though she’s not conscious, is still tightly gripping her shoulder, and I have to pry it off of it. I’m suddenly grateful that my parents aren’t here today, though I have no idea where they are. Her shoulder has a deep gash, about three inches long and probably at least an inch deep. I have no idea how long it’s been like that, but her side is covered in blood and infection has already set in. I struggle, debating for a moment if I should call 911 or not, before reminding myself that in all likelihood, this girl had nothing. She was my age, around seventeen maybe a little younger, with dark brown hair, matted and filthy. I sigh, before going to grab my medical kit and being reminded why being a certified EMT had its advantages. I keep pressure on the wound with my left hand as I set up the suture kit with my right. The wound is deep, and I am silently praying that the agony I am going to cause by stitching the wound won’t get through to her brain. I note her skin is clammy, and her face deadly pale, and sigh inwardly at the obvious signs of infection. “You should be in a hospital.” I murmur, rubbing her uninjured shoulder with a sigh, not expecting an answer. But, a moment later, she shifts slightly, whispering “No hospital. Please.” I sigh, then nod, relieved when her eyes close again. I sigh, relieved when the bleeding finally stops and I can wash out the wound, flushing it out with wound cleaner that leaves her, even unconscious, whimpering and crying out. “I’m so sorry. But I have to get this clean.” I Murmur, bandaging the wound tightly and draw her to me, not hesitating as I get her settled in my bed and go to wash my hands out, wondering to myself, what on earth do I do now.
Martha
Everything hurts when I wake up, but the pain in my shoulder is less than it was when I had last felt it. I shift, testing out my range of movement, relieved when everything works. My shoulder is bandaged tightly, I note, but it feels like my fever is lower and I certainly feel less ill than I had when I had fallen asleep. I glance around, assessing my situation when I realize I am curled up on an unfamiliar bed. I drag myself to my feet, grimacing when my legs try to give out on me. I manage to keep my legs under myself for long enough to reseat myself on the bed, and call out weakly, “Hello?” A figure appears in the doorway. I vaguely recognize her as the girl who had said I should be in a hospital. Now that I’m not all but unconscious and in agony, I notice she looks to be about my age, so, still a teenager, with shortly cropped jet black hair and light blue eyes, which are full of concern. She comes to stand in front of me, studying me with a surprisingly intense gaze. “Oh good, you’re awake. How’s the pain?” I glare up at her, trying to resist making a snarky remark to cover for the pain in my shoulder, and most of my body. “You ever been stabbed?” The girl shakes her head, and I sigh. “The pain sucks, it feels like my shoulder is on fire, and hi, nice to meet you, my name is Martha. Thanks for patching me up.”
Linda
I study this nervous young woman. Her ferocious green eyes are still slightly glassy, but there is a cockiness and a determination to hide something that I had never seen in someone our age before. “Hi, Martha. My name is Linda, you’re welcome.” Something about her intrigued me, and I find myself desperate to keep her around, at least, for now. So I sigh, going to fetch my medical kit. When I reach the bedroom again, I find her struggling to get across the room, gripping the side of the bed so hard her hands were trembling. I sigh, slipping an arm around my unruly patient and suddenly being glad that my parents were both...actually, I had no idea where they were, but they weren’t here. Martha gives me a panicked look when I all but carry her back to the bed. “Please.” She whimpers. “I have to go I can’t get found I’ll get put in the system and I have less than two years left PLEASE.” For the first time, I realize her heart is pounding against her ribs so hard that I can feel it against my side as I wrestle her back onto the bed. I look up for the first time since I had started moving her, and I see the terror in her eyes. Confusion fills my thoughts. The fear in her eyes isn’t just the pain it’s far too harsh for that, too wild. She is truly panicked at the idea of being kept here and I don’t know why.
Martha
I struggle to control my breathing, knowing it’s a failing effort so I manage to toss of her hands and get to the corner of the bed, my breathing wild and gasping as I struggle to get enough oxygen. She’s going to force me to stay she’s going to hurt me what if I get hurt again I have to get out of here please let me out. I don’t even realize she is moving, not until she is in front of me and has both arms around me. I cry out, squirming in her grasp, but she tightens her arms, forcing my shaking form against her calmer, stiller one.
Linda
I lock my arms around her, trying to avoid her injured arm as I keep her tightly against my chest. She struggles against me, whimpering and crying out, but I know that letting her go will just let her keep panicking. “Shh, shh, you’re alright. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.” I promise softly. Martha’s resolve crumples, and she slumps against my chest, sobbing as her body struggles to get air. I don’t let go, just shifting Martha so her head is against my shoulder and her arms are loosely around me. I don’t know how long we stay there, how many minutes go by until the minutes turn into hours. Martha’s sobs fade. Her body is exhausted from the wounds and then exhausted further by the panic attack, and she finally falls asleep, her breathing looser and more relaxed. I sigh, shifting to lay her back on the bed, but her left hand refuses to let go of my wrist as I try to move to leave the room. I hesitate for a moment, then give up and flop down on the other side of the bed. She visibly relaxes, even in sleep, so I kick off my shoes and resign myself to the fact that for now, I’m stuck to this bed, too.
Martha
I wake up curled against another body, and I panic for the moment it takes me to remember where I am and the day before. I groan, propping myself into a sitting position with my left arm and shake out my right hand, trying to get a feel for the muscles and such again. My shoulder is throbbing, nearly as bad as it had been the day before. I glance behind me, seeing that Linda is watching me through her half closed eyes. The blue still peeks out, even through the worn look there surprises me. “Hey, Linda.” I say softly, shifting to free myself from her grasp and nearly falling over. She’s on her feet in a moment, stabilizing my shaky frame. “Hey, I’ve got you.” She murmurs softly. “You should be in a hospital, Martha?” Fear grips my chest and I shake my head hard, ducking it down so she can’t see my eyes. “No. No way.”
Linda
A saddened pity stabs my heart when I see the fear in Martha’s eyes when I even mention the hospital. It’s obvious she has no plans to go there, but I can feel the fever on her skin, and her eyes are glazed and pain filled. I sigh, getting an arm around her waist and manage to get her out to the couch, where she slumps against the cushions, eyes half closed. I sigh, going to the kitchen and grabbing her a glass of water, handing it to her and sitting down across from her. She sips the water greedily. “Martha?” I ask softly, waiting till I get her attention before I continue. “You do need to get someone to look at that shoulder. Someone with a bit more ability than me.” She shakes her head rapidly, eyes wide with fear. I move closer, putting my hand on her uninjured arm. “Why don’t you want to go?” She whimpers, holding her damaged arm closer to herself, clearly trying to not make a noise of pain.
Martha
I watch her eyes, seeing the pity that only flashes for a moment before it is replaced with raw determination. She won’t let me not answer and I know it. “If I go to a hospital, they find out that I’m alone and I get put in the system. I’m almost sixteen and a half, I have less than two years left before I’m an adult and they can’t take me. Please.” I know my voice is barely a whimper, but my body hurts and my brain is thick and muddled from the fever that is obviously caused by the wound on my shoulder. I manage to get my eyes up again and I see she is watching me again, clearly deep in thought. I finish my water, dragging myself to my feet with a pained sigh. She stands, too, clearly not happy when I pull on my shoes. “If you think you’re going anywhere you are sadly mistaken.” She says softly. I shake my head, whispering softly, “I just want to sit outside. Just for a minute.”
Linda
I see determination in her eyes, and I know she isn’t going to back down. The cool wind could help lower her fever, so I give up and help her outside, settling us down on the small bench in my backyard. She slumps into me, clearly exhausted, and I tuck an arm around her, careful not to touch her swollen shoulder. “We can go to the clinic. I’ll say I’m with you. It’ll be half an hour, Martha. We can get you seen, get some antibiotics for the infection your body is clearly fighting, and come back.” I fully expect her to refuse but it still saddens me when she shakes her head rapidly. “They won’t believe me. And even if they do, I don’t have anywhere to go. Arm will just get infected again.” I sigh, turning so I can look her dead in the eyes, wishing she would trust me, but knowing she had no reason to. Not yet, at least, although I planned to change that. “If we go, and get you looked at, you still won’t be back out there, Martha. I’m not kicking you out, and my parents, if they ever show up, won’t, either. I promise, Martha.”
Martha
My brain tells me to refuse, to not believe her, even to get angry and run. Over four years of living out here and fending for myself screams for me not to trust anyone, reminds me of the last time I had trusted someone, when I was a terrified 12 year old who had come out, accidentally, to her family and taken a knife to the face for it. My fingers trace the scar that mars my jaw, a constant reminder of the fact that I shouldn’t, couldn’t, trust. Anybody. Ever. But my brain aches to believe her, to believe the true sincerity that I see in her eyes. My shoulder gives another painful throb, clearly stating its opinion on the matter. I give a shaky exhale, feeling her gently take my left shoulder and pull me close, rotating me so my head rests against chest. I try to pull away, but she feels warm and safe and I’m too tired and weak to fight her grip. This is nice. What if I can believe her. I want to. I do manage to lift my head a little, so I can see her again, making sure that I still see the sincerity in her eyes, the promise she had made still filling my mind. “Ok.”