blue ; gallavich

33

"Be there in five." He says.

"Wha-How do you-"

"I ain't fuckin' deaf."

The phone clicks and I stare at it, that is until the aching in my thigh returns. It burns like a flame, and frankly, too much is happening for my liking: Lip and Mandy. Weird calls. Glass in leg. My brother drinking himself to death.

"-I already have enough problems! I don't need another one to deal with, Lip! Get some fucking help but don't blame me for this! You can't just hit me and-"

"You hit her?!" I croak out, gripping my bloody leg. The coppery liquid is staining my favorite pair of white jeans, but fortunately my leg is numb at this point. 

"F-" Lip stutters, caught on his fucking tongue. I can't even begin to describe the rage I am feeling towards him. He hit Mands. He's drinking his damn heart out- literally- and he's the new Frank. Great. Just fucking dandy. "Fuck you, Karen."

I pause, looking at Mandy. Her mouth is open and the expression on her face is a mix of fuming anger and aching pain. Even Lip knows what he's said, as the fucker covers his mouth, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Karen? Really?" Mandy exclaims, throwing her hands up into the air frustratedly. "Karen? My name is Mandy, fuck face!" She screams ferociously, spit flying as it lands on my drunken brother's shocked face.

"I-" Lip hesitates, looking around desperately. I can't even be mad at him; the look on his face is sad and his eyes are swollen and red, snot running from his nose as he sniffles repeatedly. "Fuck!" Lip cries, his head in his hands as his shoulders shake vigorously. I stare at the pathetic man in front of me- my best friend completely infected with the alcoholic jean, and now it's gotten the best of him.

"Mandy." I whine out as she looks over at my resting body, and thank God there's not too much blood on the concrete.

"Fuck. Are you okay, Ian?" She asks as she runs over to support me.

"Fine. But, do me a favor?"

"Call 9-1-1?" She asks and I shake my head aggressively.

"Fuck no. Take Lip inside, get him some water and make him throw up. Just- just stay with him and then, when he wakes up, twist his scrotum so hard that his balls pop out like a fucking Pez dispenser." I hiss as she laughs, nodding and throwing my brothers arm over her shoulder. Painstakingly, she finds a way to haul him up the stairs, not without a series of grunts and gasps.

"You sure you're okay?" She asks, and I dismiss her with a nod and a slight wave of my hand. She shakes her head in annoyance from my stubbornness, then yells, "Fiona! Lip's totally fucking wasted!". Fiona opens up the door, gasping when she sees her nearly-dead brother.

"You fucking-" Fi slams the door as I take a deep breath, trying to calm my breathing as I begin to hyperventilate.

Should I call 9-1-1? I think to myself.

That's a ridiculous question, of course not. You're an EMT. Just rip off some fabric and put some pressure on the wounds.

I take off Mickey's shirt, almost pressing it on my leg when I come to a halt. Take the glass out, dumbass!

Right.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down on my bottom lip and feel for the large piece of glass lodged in my thigh. Fortunately, there's only one, but it's as big as my fucking palm.

Even touching it, putting the slightest bit of pressure on the glass hurts like a bitch. I immediately regret my decision not to call an ambulance after the first slight tug, a strained cry escaping my throat. I pull again, this time using every swear word in the book as the glass tears my flesh a little bit more. With each tug, my muscles get tenser and my leg feels weaker.