“Your arms…” Rebecca gasped lowering the blade
down from her already bleeding arm so it sat by her side. She glanced at me
quickly a warning that she was still not willing to give it up completely and
that any hasty attempt to grab the blade would make her react but I almost
didn’t want to grab for it any way. Esmee’s arms where the reason she managed
to talk the blades out of the hands that I could not. They were her secret
weapon. I did not envy it she had fort so had to gain her weapon and in the
fight she had defiantly lost more than she had gained. She survived what some
had deemed impossible and she was still here and almost unbelievably she was
happy with her place by my side in the world.
“I don’t know
what you’re feeling Rebecca. I can’t claim that these scars give me that
insight but they do give me the right to say that I know it’s hard.” I watched
Rebecca’s hand as she looked without words at Esmee’s arms. I was used to the
scars by now. I had even held towels over some of them and felt her blood run
through my fingers as she stared on not even aware that I was there. It was
almost bad but the state of her arms no longer left me speechless but to
Rebecca she signified something else. She
brought back a hope that she had long since lost and she had no real words.
“So, sweet
heart was it just that razor that did this or did you use glass or something
equally nasty as well?”
“Just the
Razor.”
“Well that’s
a good start, that means we might be able to deal with this without going over
to the hospital if that’s what you would like. You as almost as much as an
expert as I am in this I would imagine; are any of those going to need a few
stitches?”
“It depends
on whose standards you’re asking by. Officially there is probably a couple, by
my opinion there aren’t.” Esmee smiled and took Rebecca’s bleeding arm gently
into her gloved hands. Sticky black clots of blood smeared over her fingers and
she gently brushed them away trying to get to see the cuts underneath. It was
amazing how gentile she was with people. Over the years I had tried to mimic
her feather touch but ultimately my examination of cuts always ended up in
winces and hisses. Even when it was Esmee’s arms held between my fingers.
“There are a
few that are either going to need steri-stripping or stitching. I can do either
it’s up to you, I would prefer to stitch, you don’t have that great a track
record with steri-strips.”
“There too
tempting. You can just pull them off and then they bleed again. I mean you can…
it doesn’t matter.” Rebecca looked at the floor.
“Hay…Hay, I
understand, I understand,” Esmee said gently letting go of Rebecca’s arm and
placing both her hands on her shoulders instead. “I get this; I know why you
would peal them off. I have done it too. This is not easy Rebecca but it’s
possible, now why don’t you hand that blade over to me and we can sort you out
and then we can try again.”
Rebecca’s
hand twitched again as she looked down at the blood stained blade but something
in her gave up and with a sigh coupled by big fat tears falling from her eyes
she handed the blade over to Esmee before looking away.
