What makes you Happy (ON HOLD)

Part IIII- Out cold- Athena

I trudged through the late September leaves, kicking at the underbrush, pleased with the shuffling noises it made. I felt the chilly wind slide under my jacket and make me shiver. I let the crisp air sting my cheeks, enjoying the almost-winter atmosphere, reminding me to get out my fall clothes. I reach the door of my house and fumbled for my key and unlocked the door, but I wasn't fast enough.

"Hey, Petra, I heard that you and that Aaron guy are dating. That true?" Called my infuriating 15 year old next door neighbour Taylor. He started at my high school this year and now he thinks he knows everything.

"No, I only met him two weeks ago...and my name is Athena!" I yell back then try to slide inside as fast as possible. I really didn't want to talk to him. I saw the next thing he did almost in slo-motion, like an action movie. His mouth opened, and his eyebrows raised as he began to smirk...oh no...

"PETRA AND AARON SITTING IN A TREEEEEEE, KAY-EYE-ESS-ESS-EYE-EN-GEEEEE!" Taylor bellows, making sure every one in Ohio can hear him. "Petra's in LOOOOOOVE," he shrieks then bats his eyelashes. I wanted to reach out and slap him. Instead, I throw a large stick at him and dodge inside. Slamming the door shut, I slip off my knapsack and hang up my jacket.

"Mom, I'm home," I call.

"Did you just throw a stick at that nice boy?" She yells back.

"Nice b...Did you hear what he was saying to me?!" I say, incredulous.

"Athena, I think he's hurt. Really," my mom adds.

"He's fine, mom. His skull's made of lead."

"Come here. Look out the window."

I walk over and peer out of the foggy glass. The stick I threw is snapped in half on the ground and Taylor is kneeling on the concrete, doubled over. A bit of red liquid seeps from his hands that are clenched tightly onto his side.

"Oh my gosh, mom! I didn't mean to, it was a joke, I can't believe-" I ramble before my mom cuts me off.

"Shut up, Athena, and go see if he's okay!" That's my mom for you. Telling me to shut up.

I dash outside and crouch beside Taylor. I grab his shoulder and try to look at his face, but he turns away.

"Taylor, are you okay?" I ask stupidly. Of course he's not okay. "I'm so, so, so sorry! I really didn't mean to hurt you, Taylor; where does it hurt?" He groans and leans back as I sigh with relief, before seeing a huge gash right on his ribcage. He grips it tightly, trying to stem the flow of blood. I notice the stick I threw and see it's actually a wet and damaged piece of plywood, with at least eight nails sticking out of the sides, glinting in the light.

"T-Tay-T..." The sight of the blood makes me dizzy and I feel guilt weigh down on me like a brick. "Taylor," I finally gasp out. "It's okay, you're going to be fine..." I tear off a strip of my ratty t-shirt, and tie it strategically around his torso. "Keep calm, I'm going to get help," I tell him as I dash into my house, and run straight into my mom. She's already pulling on a jacket and hurrying out the door. We don't say anything to each other as we run back towards Taylor. His t-shirt is now soaked with thick, red blood and he's turning pale. Mom takes one glance at the situation and immediately understands.

"Athena, go to Taylor's house and get his parents. Tell them to bring their car; I think this boy needs a trip to the Emergency Ward."

I sprint four houses over and pound on the door. A tall, scruffy looking man answers the door.

"Your son...Your son Taylor...He's hurt and....bring you car because he needs....to go to the emergency ward..." I pant out. His dad grumps a little bit and complains how I interrupted his television show, as he pulls on a coat, slow as molasses in January.

"Please hurry, Mr. Davis," I say, tapping my fingers impatiently on my thighs. He doesn't hurry. I snap. "Hurry up!" I gasp at my own behaviour, and stare at the floor. He glares at me, but he hurries and we jog out the door and hop in the car. Then we drive back to my mother and Taylor.

"Sir, my daughter was foolish and has injured your son here," my mom tells Mr. Davis.  "He needs to be taken to the hospital for some stiches. If you would like, we can accompany you," she offers briskly.

"Eh?" Mr. Davis grunts, then says, "He'll be fine. I've been through worse." Then he hops in his car and drives away.

Mom and I are left standing with our mouths open. Taylor groans and tries to stand up, but he falls to his knees. I rush to help him, and glance helplessly at mom. She sighs, and then gets in our car.

"Hop in," she says. I help Taylor to his feet and lead him to the car. He crawls into his seat and does up the belt, before realizing that it presses into his gash. He winces as I offer to switch seats with him so the belt is on the other side, but accepts. 

We drive in silence until I see the big blue "H" on a sigh announcing the Hospital coming up on our right. Mom pulls into the parking lot and we drag Taylor to the waiting room. After about twenty minutes, a pretty, black woman in clean white scrubs emerges into the room, and motions to our group. We get up and follow her, with much difficulty. Taylor lays down on the ugly, industrial table and the doctor pulls up his shirt. I notice his abs, and I'm impressed. Taylor, annoying, stupid, the-boy-next-door Taylor, with muscle? Ew. Stop it Athena. That's nasty.

The  doctor announces she's going to use some anesthetic, then swabs the area near the gash. Taylor winces when he sees the long needle she plans to use to inject the anesthetic with.

"This might hurt a little, but after that you'll feel nothing," The doctor says to Taylor, and he nods awkwardly. I see her fill the needle, and Taylor watches, clenching the tables' edge. I think of offering to let him squeeze my wrist, but I'm worried that I might embarras him. At the last second I change my mind and grap his knuckles. I expect him to pull away but instead he seizes my fingers and holds them so hard I hear my knuckle pop. I watch the anesthetic go in, and see Taylor scrunch his face together and bite his lip. Finally, the doctor removes the needle and Taylor relaxes again. He glances up at me, and realizing our mistake we both pull our hands away from each other. He blushes and looks at the floor. That was adorable.

Adorable?

I meant awkward...Really, I did.

...Oh, shut up.