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Holding the flashlight under my armpit, I slowly open the basement door.
A smile tugs on my lips. “I’m here!”
No response.
“Grey Eyes?” I drag the bag behind me as I close the door. The creaking is haunting in the silence. It’s a little scary, too.
Whenever I come in, the chains would rattle as he’d stand up to meet me.
I direct the light towards the corner. The bag’s dragging sound comes to a screeching halt.
He lies in the corner, both arms shielding his face.
But that’s not it, no.
Red oozes down his skin and onto the floor.
Red as in blood. So much blood.
“Grey Eyes!”
I run towards him, my heart beating so fast like it wants to leave my chest. Once I’m within touching distance, I crouch in front of him, my lips trembling.
He’s not moving.
Why is he not moving?
“Grey Eyes…” I shake him with unsteady hands, all sweaty and cold. “Wake up. I brought you Maltesers and your favourite sandwich with cheese and ham. I brought you juice and everything.”
The flashlight falls to the ground as I lean closer to his face. Tears soak my cheeks, and I taste salt. “Grey Eyes… P-please, don’t go. Don’t leave like Eli… Don’t leave me.”
“I… won’t.”
“Grey Eyes!”
His lids slowly flutter open, but he doesn’t get up. They’re black in the dark, his eyes. Like all the emotions have been taken out of him.
His face appears pale and his lips are dry and cracked. The blood has turned sticky around his arms.
It’s a mess. I need to fix it before them monsters come here.
Daddy says sharks smell blood from far away, and I think them monsters do, too. They’ll smell Grey Eyes’ blood and then attack him.
I run back to my bag and shuffle it across the dirty floor. Perspiration trickles down my temple and down my nose from the effort.
Panting, I search through it. There are napkins and water. Since Grey Eyes always gets hurt, I stole cotton balls and the bottle Daddy uses to clean my wounds. He said an injury needs to be cleaned before it’s wrapped.
I wipe the sticky blood away with dry napkins. Blood is gross, you know. It wouldn’t go away from the skin.
A deep wound cuts along the side of his arm near his elbow.
It must’ve hurt so much.
The need to cry hits me, my nose tingles and my eyes burn, but I don’t cry. I have to be strong for him.
“It’s going to sting.” Biting my lip, I pour the liquid onto his injury.
A whimper comes from him as he watches me with half-closed eyes.
