Marie's POV;
My hands shook as I fumbled around in the cupboards, finally finding the small roll of white bandage I had been looking for. Ethel muttered quietly to herself as she pressed a wet towel to the man’s wound, yet blood still managed to seep out. Surely it would stop sometime soon?
I rushed over to wrap the bandage around his thin waist. His ribs showed through, yet he was still very well built and muscular. The sickly metallic smell of his blood lingered around, causing my head to spin time to time. We’d brought him into the kitchen less than five minutes ago, yet it felt like ages, too long.
I knew that if this man didn’t live, even though I had done everything I possibly could, I would not be able to live with myself; It would haunt me. I couldn’t contact a doctor as we were miles and miles away from any sort of life, we were in the middle of nowhere, and so the only thing we could do was take care of him ourselves.
It was tough; I’d had no proper experience with first aid or anything of the sort. I had to clean up a few of William’s wounds now and then; but nothing compared to this. Of course, I hated helping William; why should I help when all I receive as thanks is a slap or a kick to the stomach? But this- this was voluntary. Who would I be to leave a bleeding man at my doorstep? An awful, heartless woman. William’s wounds were never really serious, maybe a small cut on his arm, or a small slash – much like a paper cut – on his chest. But this man’s life was at risk, and Ethel and I were the only ones able to help him.
Ethel and I were silent; we daren’t say a single word in the presence of the ‘mystery man’. Our lips stayed firmly shut as we rushed about the kitchen, retrieving bandages, towels and bottles of cleaning alcohol. We would take it in turns to hold his wrist, praying that his heartbeat wouldn’t slow down anymore than it already had.
We were depending on his rapid heartbeat, and would be completely vulnerable without it.
His eyes remained shut, and his mouth slightly hung open. But he was breathing, and that was all that mattered. He breathed in big, lung filling breaths, his running catching up on him. He was gorgeous – that’s not a criticism for a male is it? – But never the less, he certainly was flawless. His skin – beneath the grey, flaky mud – was clear, his cheeks a dim shade of rose. He was tanned, showing he spent most of his time outside, soaking up the Californian sun – something I desperately needed to do. Only a few – barely visible – freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose, but disappeared when it came to his cheeks. He was like a sepia picture, his glossy, coffee coloured head of hair only added to the image. I could only presume his eyes were dark and golden, as nearly everything else about him was.
I used a dampened cloth to remove the mud from his face, holding back his soft hair to remove the mud from his hairline. Sweat clung to his strands of hair, leaving it to spike up in thin clumps.
“I don’t know what else to do” I whispered to Ethel, yet somehow I felt as if my voice travelled to the man’s ears other than Ethel’s. I kneeled down in front of him, removing my heels as they started to ache. Why did I wear them around the house anyway? Mother wasn’t here, neither was Father or William, so why on earth was I dressed to impress someone? When around Ethel – and Ethel only – I wore simple things, or more, the most simple things I could find in my overrated wardrobe.
Lacing my fingers with his, I felt my heartbeat speed up. My cheeks grew hot and my heartbeat thumped loudly in my head. Without hesitation I used the soft pad of my thumb to trace circles on the back of his hand. “You’ll be okay” I whispered, reassuring myself more than anything.
We stayed silent and completely still for a moment, me holding the man’s hand and keeping track of his steady heartbeat whilst Ethel pressed the bloodstained bandage to his wound. “What happens when William gets back?” I asked Ethel, although I knew there really, was no certain answer. I dreaded him coming back, he would only jump to assumptions. A bleeding man in the kitchen, what would you think of that when you got home?
“I guess we’ll have to get this young man to a room, run it over with William – although I’m sure he’s not going to be too happy about it – and then wait for your Mother and Father get home” Ethel glanced at me knowingly, she knew William was trouble, just not quite what he was capable of. No, William didn’t own this house, or have any share in it. It was Fathers, but his taking to William claimed this house to be Williams home as much as it was mine.
Nodding, I glanced back over to the young man who started to stir. His previously limp hand clutched onto mine as he mumbled innocently under his breath. My breathing hitched as I watched him wake, thank you lord.
My eyes widened as his opened, revealing glistening, mahogany orbs. Just as I’d expected. I smiled gently as his utterly confused gaze moved around the room. He let out a throaty cough before smiling back to Ethel and myself. I pried his hand off from around mine before walking to the other side of the kitchen to pour him a glass of water. Surely he would be thirsty.
His eyes followed me as I walked back to him and handed him the glass. “Thank you” he murmured before taking a few sips.
“You were shot?” I spoke, taking us all back down to reality. His face blanked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he glanced upon the bandaged wound at his hip. Nodding slowly, he bowed his head before speaking,
“I tried to get away, they must have seen me run by” he whispered, obviously holding himself back from saying something he would regret. My question was left unanswered, but was I really expecting an answer? We knew he was shot, what was the point in stating the obvious? Maybe I just used the confirmation as a conversation starter. Maybe I was desperate to hear his voice – I’m sure I was, but had no idea why – as when he spoke each syllable pulled at my heartstrings. I nodded understandingly, although there was not even one thing I understood. Who was shooting him? Why was he running away?
We knew he was a soldier, or more, presumed he was. His mud, and blood, stained uniform and rustic silver dog tags gave it away. So another soldier must have shot him, it was the only explanation I could muster up. But the reason he was running, I couldn’t think of any reason for. He must have wanted to join the army, so the reason he was running away was far beyond me. But I guess to be at war isn’t every young man’s dream, to kill other men to receive medals of honour, whilst risking their own life in the process. But then again, Soldiers were respected, they were known for being superior, brave men; wouldn’t that be what they want? Attention?
I gathered up my jumbled thoughts as Ethel snapped her slender fingers in front of my eyes. “Oh sorry” I awkwardly spoke, my vision switching between Ethel and the young man. He was lost, both mentally and physically, I could tell by simply looking at his puzzled expression, and the way he fumbled with his fingers in his lap. “Did you come from Arizona?” I’d heard that the soldiers were passing through, by camouflaged trucks and tanks. But being in the middle of nowhere, I didn’t know whether they had left or not.
Nodding, he straightened up in the kitchen chair. He rested an elbow on each of his knees, although he winced when he did. His movements were agonisingly slow, the pain and torture he had bottled up inside of him radiating outwards. “They found us, we weren’t hidden well” his raspy voice sounded throughout the silent kitchen. He rubbed his – now clean – forehead with his left hand, smoothing out the creases that formed on his forehead as he frowned. What was it with him being so secretive? Did he not trust us? Or was he just shy? Never the less, I was curious to know his background story; the reason he was sitting in my kitchen with a puncture at his hip and many other – smaller – wounds.
He struggled to lean forward, he felt around his black polished boots, for what I presumed to be the laces. “Here” I whispered, untying the boots laces and carefully pulling them off from his feet. A look of relief washed over him, and only then did I notice the dried blood clumps at the back of his foot. The, rather poor quality, grey socks he wore on his feet had worn away at the heel, and his heel had been rubbing against the rough leather inside his boots. I winced from just the thought, and without him knowing, pulled his socks off quickly. That was always the best way to get things – that were sure to cause pain – over with; without them knowing.
A throaty, pain filled groan escaped his lips, and I muttered a small ‘Sorry’ before throwing the thin remains of fabric in the bin. Ethel dampened a cotton cloth with wound cleaning alcohol and dabbed it on the back of his heel. Again, he was totally out of it and shock hit him as the stinging sensation spread throughout his body. I’d had to do this to myself plenty of times, on my arms and legs where I had been pushed into a table or cupboard and received a wound. So I knew how it felt, certainly wasn’t the best feeling in the world.
His leg jolted forwards, away from the cloth Ethel held at his heel. Trying to master his reflexes, he took in a deep breath before allowing Ethel to place it back to his wound. After a few moments his wounds were cleaned, and I began to wrap a new bandage around his hip. He pulled his arm over his head, making it easier for me to see his hip and figure out the best way for me to bandage it.
Ethel left to take the tray of cakes out from the furnace, and instantly the smell of vanilla hit my senses.
“I’m Justin by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t introduced myself beforehand” he spoke as I secured his bandage with a safety pin. His eyes burned into the side of my head as he gazed at me, he remained silent after that, waiting for me to answer and, I presume, introduce myself also.
I shuffled beneath his steady stare, but raised my wide orbs to meet his, and instantly I felt more comfortable and less awkward when around him. Surely it wasn’t just me knowing his name that changed how I felt? Maybe it was just the small talk that I instantly took a warming to? “Marie Buckingham” my voice travelled along, and I stood up once the safety pin was intact. I smiled warmly at him, and he lowered his arm back down to rest at his side. Nodding, in almost... agreement?, he fixed his eyes on me for a moment. Before the corners of his lips started to twitch, and pulled into a – rather beautiful – but sly smile. His pearly whites shone through, at his plump pink lips parted.
“Good morning, Miss Buckingham”