Deranged [REWRITTEN]

Chapter Nine

"I swear to God, if you hurt me I will scream so loud it'll blow your eardrums and the cops downstairs will be up here in less than a second," I glare at him. His eyes showed no emotion as he slipped through the window, smearing the ledge with blood. I silently curse myself for allowing this man into my home.

I couldn't live with the guilt knowing he could die if I walked away. I motion him to my bathroom and he limps over to it. His skin is abnormally pale from the amount of blood loss and I have to take a deep sigh before I follow him.

He's sitting on the toilet seat with his bloody hand covering his side and his eyes shut tight in pain. I pull out the first aid kit.

"I need to see the wound. I doubt I can be of any help to you," I tell him, expressing that I was not at all happy he showed up at my house. Before I can stop him, he pulls the white shirt under his jumpsuit off and I have to refrain from staring at everything. My brain processes tattoos... a lot... before I snap out of it and look at the wound. "It's looks deep. You'll need stitches."

"Can you stitch it up?" He asks, looking at the wound, leaning back. I look at him like he's crazy, no scratch that, I look at him because he is crazy.

"Do I look like I know how to stitch up a wound!" I give him a cloth to press against it.

"I don't care if you stitch it wrong, I just need you to stitch it." He looks at me with his eyebrows furrowed and I have to scoff.

"I shouldn't even be helping you," I sneer. "I can go downstairs and tell the cops you are right here and it's back to jail."

He looks at me like he's going to plead me not to do just that. I stand up, realizing how ridiculous this entire situation is.

"You know what, I'm gonna go get the cops for you. They will know what to do." Before I can walk out of my bathroom a hand grips my arm and stops me from moving any further.

"Don't," He speaks in a deeper tone. "I said I wasn't going to hurt you. Please, If you don't help I'm going to pass out."

Here, I have a big scary man sitting on my toilet, green prison jumpsuit hanging around his waist, bleeding out and begging me to help him.

"You kidnapped me. I don't know what part of that sounds normal to you. I can't help you, so let go." I stand my ground acting all tough but I know he can feel me shaking under his palm. His muscles tense at that and he closes his eyes.

"I know what I did was wrong," He starts. "I was desperate for help and you were the only person I felt that I could trust myself to be around." He pleads. "Listen, I know I scared you and I know you have no right to trust me, but you are my only hope to fix everything that's all fucked up."

He hesitantly lets go of my arm and I immediately cross them. It looks like he is on the verge of passing out and my brain goes into panic mode. If I don't help quickly there will be a dead body on my bathroom floor. I flip through my first aid kit that hasn't been opened since my mother first bought it for me years ago.