( she's practically lost all sense of time by the time they make it in through the back door — there's no telling how long ago it was, exactly, that she'd found him in those woods, and while she knows the drive couldn't have been more than five minutes at most it feels as if it'd spun on infinitely. seconds become a lot more critical when there's a chance someone could bleed out in the back of your car, but she's telling herself if they've made it this far, it could be worse.
it's a a straight shot to the basement, night-dimmed kitchen flickering with light from the television, the familiar sound of her father snoring in his recliner rustling up every few seconds. that's usually the cue for her mom to stir him awake and bring him to bed, so she's holding her breath as they cross the floor, managing to shut the door silently behind them before they start their descent.
neither of them say much, it's more a conversation of ragged puffs of breaths cut off or stumbling over one another, and the moment he folds back onto the couch it's almost as if she goes into auto-pilot. keeping him hidden in the basement was one thing — a feat that's certainly proven possible — but it'd be a lot more difficult to explain the couch being saturated in blood. she's grabbing two of the darker towels from the basket atop the washer, tucking them beneath his sides and sliding one beneath his curls, matted and dried with blood just the same as his shirt. )
I'll be right back. ( she starts, teeth catching the tip of her tongue before stay here mindlessly slips from it, and she's climbing the stairs again to thumb with shaky fingers through the various first aid kits kept in the home. )
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it's a a straight shot to the basement, night-dimmed kitchen flickering with light from the television, the familiar sound of her father snoring in his recliner rustling up every few seconds. that's usually the cue for her mom to stir him awake and bring him to bed, so she's holding her breath as they cross the floor, managing to shut the door silently behind them before they start their descent.
neither of them say much, it's more a conversation of ragged puffs of breaths cut off or stumbling over one another, and the moment he folds back onto the couch it's almost as if she goes into auto-pilot. keeping him hidden in the basement was one thing — a feat that's certainly proven possible — but it'd be a lot more difficult to explain the couch being saturated in blood. she's grabbing two of the darker towels from the basket atop the washer, tucking them beneath his sides and sliding one beneath his curls, matted and dried with blood just the same as his shirt. )
I'll be right back. ( she starts, teeth catching the tip of her tongue before stay here mindlessly slips from it, and she's climbing the stairs again to thumb with shaky fingers through the various first aid kits kept in the home. )