Page 19 of A Silence So Divine

“Brat,” he mutters, letting his arms fall to his sides. I can tell there’s more he’d like to say, but he must not have the energy. I inhale deeply.

As carefully as I can, I peel the shirt off and drop it with a wetthwackto the floor. Resting my palms on his hips, I lean down to get a closer look. My lunch creeps back up my esophagus at the sight of his abdomen. Halfway between his hip bone and bottom rib is a nearly 6 inch long gash, the product of some kind of blade. Who could do something like this? Better yet,why?

A gasp comes from the doorway. Creed gapes at me for a beat, his attention then sliding to the blood splattered floor. My father would have a fit if he saw the mess being made on his tiles.

“He needs—”Before I can finish my statement, Creed is running across the room to vomit into the sink.

Well.

While he retches, I turn to his older brother, who is now floating in and out of consciousness. This is a nightmare. But worse, because it’s actually happening. A whimper gets caught inmy throat and I bring my hands into my hair, staring helplessly at the two men.

At a loss, I go to Creed and take the first aid kit from him. Hunched over the sink, he looks at me. Tears trail down his cheeks.

“I can’t. I can’t…”He chokes out a sob and wipes at his mouth. The look of terror on his face has me tapping into a false sense of calm. One of us has to be strong for the other, and today, it’s my turn.

“I have to close it. Can you carry him?”The likelihood that I can successfully suture a wound is slim, but my gaze is steady with conviction.

I clench my teeth to stop my jaw from trembling. I’ve never so much as held a needle, but when I was fourteen, I watched my father stitch my leg after an incident with a nail in the attic. That will have to be enough.

With a weak nod, Creed splashes water onto his face and takes a few deep breaths. When I look at Cecil, he’s slumped over. We’re running out of time. Even if I get the wound closed, I can’t replenish the lost blood, and there’s no way Creed or I could take him to a hospital. Assuming there evenisa hospital within 100 miles. I know nothing of the world outside these grounds.

Once Creed has his brother in his arms, I run ahead and open the door to my bedroom. I grab towels from the bathroom and spread them over the plush comforter.

It takes a minute to get his limp body situated, and then I’m rifling through the first aid kit. It will need to be cleaned to avoid infection, so I twist off the lid of an alcohol bottle and up-end it over his stomach.

Cecil lurches on the bed and flies to a sitting position.

“Fuck!” He shouts loud enough to make me flinch, his face mere inches from mine. However, before I can react, his eyes are rolling up into his head and he drops back into my pillows.

Probably for the best.

Creed, on the other hand, rushes the bed and checks his brother’s pulse. The sheen of sweat on his forehead has me worried he’ll end up fainting, too.

“He’ll be okay,”I reassure him, praying it’s not a lie.I’m operating on sheer will power, and Creed’s wooziness makes him nothing but a distraction to me.

“Get him clean clothes. We’ll need to change him once I’m done,”I say, turning away before he can respond.

The contents of the kit are decades old, but I'm able to find a needle and yellowed thread. There’s a box of matches in the bottom, and I use the flame to sterilize the sharp end. The sound of footfalls has me peeking over my shoulder, and I blow out a breath when I realize Creed left the room. I’ll have to be quick.

This may go down in history as the worst suture ever performed. Four times I poke him and have to remove the needle, my hands shaking so violently that I can’t control the direction of the punctures. My fingertips are coated with blood, and I continuously wipe them on my shirt. We’ll have to add clothes to the list of things we need, right under a new first aid kit.

The steady rise and fall of Cecil’s bare chest quells my fears for now.

I hesitate, gaze flicking to his face. The permanent frown is gone, softening harsh lines and making him appear younger. Dark lashes fan across high cheekbones, pouty lips, a freckle on his jawline. A beautiful face wasted on a cruel man. Saving his life might make him trust me, but I won’t hold my breath.

Creed returns when I’m on my last few passes with the thread. Though he still appears to be on the brink of fainting, he’s calmed a bit. He stays in the corner of the room and watches on, but he doesn’t so much as glance at me. His eyes are trained on Cecil.

There’s no denying the love these two have for one another. A pang of jealousy hits my heart and I gnaw at the inside of my lip.

The stitching is jagged and inconsistent, but the bleeding has stopped. With a warm rag, I clean his skin, leaving the cloth pink-tinged. The adrenaline wears off as quickly as it came. My body aches from how tense I’ve been the last hour. I blink rapidly to keep my eyes in focus.

My palms glide over the muscles of his abdomen, scrubbing blood stains. My hands are so pale compared to his rich olive skin. His little brother is almost as fair as I am, and I’m curious if either take after their dad. Creed has only mentioned him once, and the consensus was that they’re better off without him. Still—what he was like? Was he similar to mine? Are there fathers out there that are good at all? It’s hard to imagine.

Creed and I work in tandem to get Cecil out of his jeans and into a pair of cotton pants. Getting a long sleeved t-shirt over his head is a feat, but after a struggle, we slide it on without ripping any stitches. Which is lucky, because I don’t think I’d be able to sew someone up again if I tried.

Once the room is clean and Cecil is tucked into bed, we step into the hall. I stretch my arms over my head, grimacing at the sore muscles in my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Creed staring. Facing him, I cock my head to the side. His chin wobbles and drops to his chest.

“He could have died,”On the last word, Creed’s face crumples and he lets out an anguished sob. I’ve never had the chance to comfort another person, and I don’t let the opportunity pass me by.