Shattered

Hazel (e)

I couldn't help but hold my breath as I took hold of his outstretched palm. Turning the water warm, I swiped the towel underneath and then along his skin.

It was like this morning was happening all over again.

"Mr. Wright, what—?"

"Please don't ask me any questions."

The curiosity I felt itched to know more, but I clamped my mouth shut at Mr. Wright's command. I was left to my thoughts to wonder about him, instead.

What was he hiding? From the run this morning to the cuts on his hands, to cold and dull green eyes that pierced right through me. That rugged scar. There was no doubt in my mind that there was more to Mr. Wright than what he was letting on.

There were so many questions on the tip of my tongue.

The blood in Mr. Wright's palm didn't seem to let up, and like earlier, he stood frozen and unmoving. Almost as if in a daze as he watched my hand.

"Do you have bandages?" I asked.

Mr. Wright nodded and pulled his hand from mine. "I'll go get some."

"No, wait. I'll go," I said. "Where are they?"

He hesitated, and his piercing stare searched my face. Disbelieving and unsure, and unlike the side of him that I was used to.

Finally, Mr. Wright said, "They're in the top drawer of my desk. On the right."

With a nod, I slipped past Mr. Wright and towards the door. Only, his voice stopped me a few steps in.

"Hazel?"

Mr. Wright's stare penetrated mine, pleading without using any words. Then,

"Don't say anything to anyone about this. Please?"

I nodded my head.

On the way toward Mr. Wright's office, I tried not to let myself think so hard, but now I couldn't stop wondering if Mr. Wright should tell someone. Whatever his cuts meant, I knew there had to be something much deeper.

In Mr. Wright's office, I found a roll of gauze and tape sitting on top of a stack of files. When I grabbed the two items, I suddenly remembered something that Jules had told me about an absent father growing up.

Did this all have to do with his childhood?

On the way back to the bathroom, I noticed the questioning stares from my coworkers, and though I ignored them, a part of me wondered if Sam or Joy had said something.

News about Carter Wright traveled fast, no matter what it was. Did the man ever catch a break?

"Found them." I announced, stepping into the bathroom.

Mr. Wright pulled away from the bathroom mirror and visibly straightened when he saw me. His darkened eyes seemed to brighten when he noticed me and the look flooded my skin with warmth. Then, again, I could have just been imagining things.

He reached out to take the gauze and tape, but I held them back. "Let me do it." I said.

"Hazel, I can—"

"I know, just let me."

Mr. Wright reluctantly opened his palm to me, his eyes following every movement I made, and I could feel that penetrating stare. I tried to focus on wrapping his hand, which was now bleeding significantly less.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I thought you said no questions?"

Pulling his fingers from my grasp, Mr. Wright gave me an unenthused look, and my lips tilted upward slowly. As if he wasn't the one who said anything.