Chapter 14: Franny-1

9. Franny Dad's gone. He's staying late at a bar and won't be back till the morning or late into the night. Most teenagers would be happy to hear that their dad's going out and leaving them alone all night but all I feel is dread. What if he doesn't come back? What if he gets too drunk and is lying in a ditch somewhere? Or gets into a fight and ends up bleeding on the ground? I should be able to trust my dad, but he's a walking disaster. Any trust I once had for him is gone now. I wander around the empty house and feel as lonely as the building itself. The walls pop from the heating and the floor creaks now and then as I walk along it. But I still feel alone and lost. That is until the doorbell rings. Thinking it's my dad, I rush over and unlock the door, sliding over the latch. I twist the doorknob and open the door wide but the person I see in the doorway is not my dad. The dark-haired boy stands shakily in front of me, his head down and a hand pressed against his side. I look at where his hand sits and my eyes widen at the large red patch of liquid that is soaking into his clothes and dripping onto his hand. "Jesus," I whisper, "what the hell happened?" Tyler's grip tightens on the bag in his other hand and slowly he lifts his head up. His face is contorted in pain, his eye swelling and flaring red. Blood drips from his mouth and his lips are cut. "Help me," he says. "Please just . . . " I don't waste any time and move backwards, pushing the door open further for him to walk in. He stumbles forward, dropping his bag onto the floor and grabs onto the bannister for support. I quickly shut the door and lock it back up before rushing to Tyler's side. He's hunched over, fast, short breaths coming out of his mouth. I place a hand on his back, hesitantly. "You need to lie down so I can help you. Please, you're going to bleed out everywhere." I'm panicking on the inside. I don't have any medical knowledge. The most I can do is put a band aid on a paper cut. From the sight of Tyler's shirt, which is drenched in blood, the wound beneath is not a simple paper cut that can be fixed with a wet tissue and a bandage. Tyler looks up and sees the dining table a few feet away through the open doorway to the kitchen. He staggers over and I lurch forward, scared he will fall, but he doesn't collapse. He grits his teeth and keeps moving until he's at the table. I look down at the blood dripping after him and my stomach churns. What could have happened? Who would have wanted to hurt Tyler this badly? Why did he come to me for help? Tyler stumbles to the table and collapses against it. I rush over with a flustered urgency that would have panicked me if I was the one wounded. But Tyler doesn't seem irritated or annoyed at the fact that I can't seem to calm down long enough to form a complete sentence. "It's okay," he says quietly, turning so that his back is to the table. He grits his teeth and pushes himself up until he's sitting on the edge of the table. His face tightens in pain and I bite my lip, unsure of how I can help him. "Just calm down." These are the words that I should be telling him. I should be the one with my hand on his shoulder, saying that it will be okay and that he just needs to close his eyes and keep breathing. "You afraid of blood?" he asks. I shake my head and he gives me a slight smile. "Good. Because you're about to see loads of it." I swallow and nod, taking a step forward but he holds his hand up. I can see the sweat trickling down his forehead. He's blinking rapidly and his breathing is fast. He lifts his hand and I narrow in on the red blood that covers it messily as if a paintbrush has been swept across his skin. "My bag. It's by the door. There's a first aid kit." I nod stupidly and turn around, rushing over to the large, black sports bag which I see sitting by the door. I pick it up and run back, dumping it on the table beside Tyler's shaking body. His hand is still pressed against the wound and his eyes flutter closed now and then. "Stay awake," I say. I know at the least that he can't fall asleep. In the movies they never fall asleep, they tell them to stay awake. Maybe my inner Hollywood actress is finally kicking in but I unzip the bag and rummage around until I find a box at the bottom. I lift out the first aid kit and place it on the table. Tyler removes his hand from his wound. I wince as I see his shirt stick to his hand from blood until they finally separate. With a pained expression, he shrugs his shirt off. It sticks to his body every now and then until it's finally on the floor at our feet. I take a step closer and look down at Tyler's side, just by his hip where I see a mess of blood that has been smeared across his skin from the clothing. But underneath I can see the dark cut that runs along the whole of his hip. It's messy and deep and blood oozes out. "Oh my god," I whisper. Tyler snaps his fingers. "Franny," he says. "Get the antiseptic. It's the only bottle in there. Get a towel, too." His eyes are stern and calm, a complete contrast to the frenzied pain he expresses on his face and body language. I quickly grab the only bottle in the kit and then go to the cupboard in the hallway and come back with a small towel. Tyler holds his hand out for the towel and I pass it to him. He folds the towel and presses it to his wound, applying pressure. "Do you need stitches?" I ask. "I don't . . . I don't think I can do that . . . " Tyler shakes his head. "I don't need stitches. It's not as deep as you think. Just grazed." "That's more than a graze," I mutter and look back down at the towel covering his wound. "Why did you come here? How do you even know this is where I live?" Tyler uses his free hand and fishes a little piece of paper out of his pocket. He holds it out to me and I take it from his grasp. "Your friend, the ginger, asked me to give you your homework." "Tally?" I frown and look down at my address scribbled down on the paper. "Why would she . . .?" I stop when I realize exactly why Tally would do that. Her suggestive face in history class was enough to know that she was attempting to set me up. Maybe it's her feeling guilty for kissing me or maybe she just wants to mess with me for her own amusement. But either way, I guess I need to thank her. Otherwise Tyler could still be bleeding somewhere. "Do you have my homework?" I ask after a moment of silence. Tyler shakes his head. "It's in my truck." I nod. "You left your truck?"