The Key Chased the Blade

I ran all the way to Simon's house without stopping. My breath burned in my throat, my hair dampened in the morning drizzle, and my legs strained all the way there. I skidded to a stop on the porch and pounded on the door. To my surprise, his mom answered. She probably hadn't left for work yet.

"Where's Simon?" I gasped.

I must've looked terrible. Mrs. O'Neill's brow furrowed, and I could just see the gears in her head turning as she decided whether or not to let me in. I hadn't been on her good side. A couple days ago I'd accidentally gotten Simon and I kicked out of Wal-Mart for a stupid reason. We weren't even being like stereotypical hoodlums, we'd just pull a couple pranks on people, like hiding in the clothing racks or popping out of the big wardrobes they sold there. Mrs. O'Neill and the Wal-Mart employees didn't see it like that, though.

"He's in his room, he's a little sick," Mrs. O'Neill said slowly. "You can visit, but only for a little bit-"

I was already letting myself in. "Thank you, Mrs. O'Neill," and I rushed over to Simon's room.

I burst into his door without knocking. Simon was lying on his bed, still in his pajamas, and not facing me.

"Simon!" I rolled him over, but he let out a cry and his hands flew to his stomach. At first I didn't understand what was up with him. He instantly curled in on himself as if I'd seen him naked or something. But then I saw some red liquid blossom on the fabric of his shirt underneath his hands.

And even then I still didn't comprehend what was going on. It took a few long seconds of staring at him, seeing his shirt soaked with red, his bedsheets stained scarlet, his pallid face, and I finally realized that he was bleeding. Bleeding heavily.

I started swearing and spewed out profanity like a sailor. Simon tried to calm me down, but I slapped him across the face, hid in his closet, and slammed the closet door shut on me. I went and sat in the corner in the darkness and hid behind his draping clothes. I thought about tearing them off their hangers just to spite him, but I didn't follow through with the idea.

I heard Simon shuffle over to the closet and open it. Light pooled in, and in that halo of light around him, I could see him clutching his side and still see the blood dribbling down his pajama pants. This wasn't a dream. This was real. Simon was bleeding.

"Simon, God damnit!" I burst out of the closet and wrestled the shirt off of him. There was a small, but I could tell it was deep, wound above his left hip, and it was just streaming out blood. "What the hell, Simon!? What the hell is this!?"

I bellowed more profanities as Simon tried to get me to shut up. There was blood all over his hands. I took his shirt, which was bundled up in my fists, and pressed it hard on his wound. Simon was panicking. "Noah, please be quiet! My mom will hear!"

"Maybe she should!" I glared daggers at him. I could see the welt rising on his face where I'd hit him and I wasn't sorry. "Why didn't you go to a freaking doctor!? What is this from!? What the hell happened!?"

"I didn't want my mom to get involved-"

I felt like hitting him again, but I didn't. "Simon," I hissed. "Since you're over fifteen, they won't tell your parents unless it's an emergency. They won't do anything unless you did this yourself or someone else did it to you."

"But this is an emergency!"

I stared into his grey eyes and contemplated killing him. "Say it was an accident. I'm taking you to the hospital, now. You'd better have a damn good explanation for this."

"Oh, well, it was an accident." Simon managed to grin.

I flipped him off, swore a few more times, and then left the bloody bundle of his shirt for him to take care of. Then I grabbed a new shirt from his closet and tore off a few others from their hangers on accident, and then flung it in his face.

"Put this on and let's go," I said.