The Goth and His Psycho.

The Goth and His Psycho: [Chapter Nine]

  When they finally came in sight of houses, both teenagers were relieved. Alex was sweating heavily, arms aching with the effort of holding up the girl. Even though she was tiny, he’d been carrying most of her weight for ages, and he was panting as he pushed open his own gate and hauled her up the steps of the house. 

  “Hasn’t changed much” Bree muttered, her skin was a faint green colour. She collapsed. Alex caught her, gasping as his biceps strained, he tried to steady her, but her legs couldn’t seem to straighten, so he wrapped his arm behind her knees, another around her waist. He hoisted her into his arms, gritting his teeth at the protesting of his tired body. 

  Her head lolled onto his shoulder, breathing ragged and heavy, her lips parted, cheeks flushed and eyes closed. Her face was the only thing that got him moving in a mechanical fashion. 

  He managed to get her into the living room, where he laid her gently on the sofa, sliding a cushion under her head as he did. He fell onto the floor beside her, wincing as his knees connected with the wood. 

  “Bree” he laid his hand on her cheek, stroking gently, he couldn’t help himself. Her eyes fluttered open, her chest rising and falling quicker than it should. 

  “Pansy” she wheezed. 

  He stood, giving her cheek another stroke before rushing into the kitchen, he wrung a clean cloth under the tap and got a glass of water, then moved quickly back into the living, swashing water onto the floor as he did. 

  He arranged the cloth on her forehead after running it over her flushed cheeks. 

  “Here, drink this” he tipped the glass against her lips, and she willingly chugged down a few mouthfuls, but after three or four swigs, she gagged. He hastily pulled it away, and rubbed her back as she sat up, heaving. With some effort she seemed to keep it down, and slumped back against the pillows again. 

  “What can I do?” Alex urged. Her eyes opened again to stare at him, a light frown lighting her face. But Alex was clearly panicking. Her wounds were far beyond his healing ability, the best he could do was aspirin. “I’ll have to call my mum” he muttered, resigning himself to it. If he didn’t, Bree would die for sure. But then if he did, she could go back to Crickly. As soon as he said it however, her eyes surged open. 

  Her hand shot out and latched around his collar, pulling him forward. It wasn’t a yank, more a tug. But still, he buckled under her hold. 

  “Don’t” she gasped “You cant. She’ll hand me in, Pansy” Bree rushed, eyes wide and, Alex thought… even scared. 

  “But you’ll die” Alex whimpered. Bree shook her head, her hand slipping from his clothes to his cheek, and he leaned into it, almost automatically. 

  “There’s someone you can take me to” she whispered. Alex’s eyes widened, and he was shaking his head before her lips stopped moving. “Listen!” she ordered, eyes hardening “His name is Kieran Bishop.” 

  “I know him” Alex muttered, nodding. 

  “He was a friend of my mother. He was like an uncle to me when I was younger. And he wrote to me while I was at Crickly. He told me if I ever got out, he’d look after me. That’s who I would of gone to if I was ever released” Bree’s words were slipping in and out of volume. She was getting worse and Alex was scared. 

  He didn’t really know why. He’d only found the girl yesterday and in that time she’d attacked him, hit him and basically just scared the shit out of him. But even so, he was still holding out hope. He needed to believe that Bree Treven, the girl and not the murderess, was still in there. He’d seen glimpses of her so far, but not much, not enough. And he wasn’t willing to give up yet.