SCOUT
I satin the bathtub in a hotel, eyeing the razorblades I had bought at a gas station when Desi wasn’t looking.
It had been one week since we’d left Ohio. Since I made the conscious choice to follow Desi across the country while he murdered people for money. I was a part of his killing spree. I had wanted that. What kind of a monster was I?
I didn’t deserve a life of happiness.
Desi didn’t either. Sooner or later, it would all catch up to us. We’d be a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. I wasn’t a big history buff, but I knew how their story ended. I had a dreaded feeling our end would be a lot more torturous.
I couldn’t go back to my home, with Luis and Brucey and all my friends, with my conscience as heavy as it was. How could I go about living a normal life, knowing I’d put people in the ground? People who were parents, children, and had people who loved them. People that missed them and wondered what happened to them.
I reached for the razor blade. My heart raced as I bit down my lip and nerves. With a shaky hand, I brought it to my right arm and pressed.
“Scout? You all right? It’s been a while.” Desi banged on the door.
I stared at the red line spilling from my skin.
Desi’s pounding began to get louder and more frantic. “Scout? Scout, will you please fucking answer me?” His voice came out tortured, and I began to cry.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I slid my bleeding arm into the bath, letting the warm water coax the blood to move. Please, just let me go fast.
I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the other arm. I lifted my hands and switched the blade from one hand to the other. Just as I was pressing it into my skin, the door burst open.
Wood splintered as Desi fell to the ground. He caught himself with his palms and looked up at me.I blinked and tried to sit up, but my head was dizzy.
“Scout? Oh my god. Fuck!” He scrambled and ripped me out of the bath.
I was too weak to fight him, so I remained cradled in his arms, all the while, pleading for death.He snatched a towel and pressed it against my bleeding arm. He swore as he tried to save me. I closed my eyes, trying to work past the fuzz in my brain. Something wasn’t right. What had I done?
Desi was crying. I had hurt him. I couldn’t die, knowing his heart was breaking.
“We need to get you help,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what to do.”
I felt myself being lifted and taken out of the steamy bathroom.Desi placed me on the bed. The click of the phone being taken off the hook caught my attention. I tried to focus on what was going on. Had he called an ambulance?
“Do you have a sewing kit? I tore my shirt,” he said to someone.
When had he ripped his shirt?Oh wait… he was talking about me.
He hung up and came back to sit beside me. He pressed his hands over my cut and squeezed the towel again. “Sssh, it’s going to be all right.”
Someone knocked, and Desi stood to get it.I swiveled my head and tried to open my eyes, but everything felt so heavy.
“Thanks. Here, for your troubles.” Desi spoke to the person and quickly shut the door.
“I-It hurts,” I murmured when he returned to my side.
He brushed my hair, wet and matted, off my face. “I know, you’re hurt. But I’m going to fix you, okay?” He continued to apply pressure to my arm before finally unwrapping it. “I’m going to sew you up. Thankfully, you missed all the important parts.”
“How do you know?” I asked through the fog. I managed to crack my eyes open just a touch, and saw his eyes darken.
“Because if you had, you’d be dead.”
He propped me up on pillows, and I tried to focus on what he was doing.
I watched, as an observer, and not an active participant in the room as he prepared the needle, threading it and tying it. His eyes held a grave intensity in them.
He took my arm and seeing it smeared with blood, he got up and returned with a cold, wet rag. He cleaned me up and then brought the needle to my skin.
