Help Me Feel

Help Me Feel - One Shot: Brandon's POV

I didn't know. I started shouting for her, not getting a reply. I walked through the house, stopping when I saw hair on the floor near the kitchen. I jogged the last few steps, my body again reacting before my brain completely processed what it had just seen. There was blood everywhere, covering her hands and scattered over the floor.

Oh, God...

“Andrea! Shit, why the hell did you do this?” I yelled, kneeling beside her. She was breathing, but she was so pale... she was too close to blood-loss.

Oh, God, please don't let her die.

Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her. I could see in her face that she'd given up, accepted the death she was so sure was unavoidable.

“What's going on?” I heard Evie's voice saying.

“Don't you dare die on me! Oh, my God, Evie, seriously, I'm driving her to a hospital. Tell mom and dad that's where I've gone. There's no time to wait for someone,” I rushed out, getting up to grab as many towels as I possibly could. This could not be happening. Not now, not ever. Not to her.

“Brandon, what's going on?” Evie repeated.

“She's losing too much blood! I'll talk to you later.” I knew it was bad of me, I knew I should have done this better, but I had no time. Already I could see Andrea's chest rising and falling slower.

“No! You can't die!” I shouted, managing to keep hold of my phone and pick her up. I placed the towels on her stomach so I could use them in the car.

As I drove, I called 911.

“My best friend cut, she's dying, I didn't have time to wait for you guys to get there. I need her to live. Oh, God, let her live...” I knew they probably didn't know what I was saying, or even why I was calling them, but I had to feel like I was helping in some way.

I glanced at Andrea through the rear-view mirror, hating how still she looked.

She could not die. She's my best friend, she can't die.

Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn't cry, not yet. As long as she was alive, there was hope. As long as there was hope, she was alive.

That was how it worked.

By the time we reached the hospital, my entire car floor was covered in blood, but I didn't care. The towels, too, were red, but again I didn't give a shit. I don't know how I got her out, I don't know how I managed to get her into the hospital.

I don't even know how the nurses there understood me screaming, “Help her! She's loosing blood, and I don't know what else to do! Don't let her die, please don't let her die!”

Someone took her from me, placing her on a stretcher and taking her who knows where, but I stayed. I didn't want to see anymore. I'd seen too much.

“Sir, I need you to tell me what happened,” one of the nurses said.

I nodded, gulping. “She, uh, she left her bag in class. I was taking it to her. I saw her in her kitchen. She'd cut on her wrist...” I slowed my voice, the image coming into my mind clearer than it had even been when it'd first happened. “I didn't even know... She can't have done it before. She didn't seem like she did... Why did she do it?” I broke down, unable to stay strong anymore. My best friend cut, and I hadn't even noticed.

“Sir, it's okay, she'll be okay.” The nurse pat my arm, patronizingly.

I shook my head, sitting on the floor though there were chairs around. Andrea was my best friend, I'd known she would be from the first day I met her. Was this why she hadn't wanted friends? She cut?

I didn't care that I was crying. I didn't care that people were probably staring at me like I was insane. I just cared that my best friend was in a hospital because she'd felt the need to slice her wrist open.

I don't know how long I waited there. I knew at some point my parents and Evie came by, and I had to tell them what happened. I know they dragged me home and told me they'd bring me back first thing in the morning.

I know I didn't sleep all night because all I could picture was Andrea laying there, her own blood surrounding her. I could only see the cuts on her wrist, the paleness of her face, the way her lips moved, telling me something I couldn't understand.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought she was apologizing.

Why did she do it? I couldn't understand. What had made her take that knife? What had made her carry one with her?

All I knew after that night was getting to the hospital the second visiting hours started, and asking the receptionist about Andrea Wells.

And then I knew the gut-wrenching happiness that she'd survived, that she was a miracle, that if I'd been even thirty seconds late, she might not have made it.

I sat by her all day until she woke up, and the second she smiled at me for being there, I knew I'd never leave her alone. She was stuck with me for life now, forever my best friend.