Bad Decisions

Mine to protect

Kassie

It was a bright, beautiful day out. The birds were singing their melodies while in flight high up in the clear, blue sky. The sun shined down, warming my pale skin. I couldn’t help but let out a sigh of contentment.

I wasn’t supposed to be outside alone, but I was mischievous. I wanted to play, to run and I couldn’t do that if it was nap time.

My father had put me down for my usual nap, laying down with me after my excessive pleading and begging to do so. He never realized it was a ruse. I was simply manipulating him and he ignorantly agreed.

I was his little girl, his whole world. He spoiled me rotten in any way he could, and I took advantage of that. But despite that, he still didn’t allow me to skip my nap and play. But he happily crawled into bed when I offered my cooperation if he stayed with me. He fell asleep, his arms gently wrapped around me.

With a small smirk, I had slipped ever-so-slowly out of his loving grip. He was surprisingly a heavy sleeper for a vampire and didn’t stir an inch at my departure.

So, while my father had been lured to sleep unknowingly, I snuck to the front yard to play without interruption.

And that’s how I found myself unsupervised in the front yard, enjoying another summer day. I was feeling especially adventurous, and decided to climb the oversized tree that overlooked our home.

I was short and couldn’t reach the branches even on my tiptoes. I had to jump and shimmy up using the rough bark at certain points. As I got further up, the easier it got as the number of branches increased.

But I stopped when a sweet scent overwhelmed me: blood.

I looked around, searching for where the delicious aroma was coming from. My eyes landed on a silver-haired boy walking along the sidewalk. I watched for a moment in awe. He was such a handsome boy.

It didn’t take me long to make my descent down the tree. On a lower branch, I swung my legs and was able to catapult over the fence to land in front of the boy, stopping him in his tracks.

The boy, probably about nine years old, looked at me with dark eyes, skeptically. He seemed skittish, as if just my presence was enough to make him bolt. But I wasn’t surprised after taking in his appearance.

He was sporting a bruised cheek and a swollen, bloody lip. He was holding his left arm gingerly to his body. I could tell he was scared and in pain—I could practically feel it.

“Hi. You smell good.”

He tensed up, and continued to stare at me with narrowed eyes.

So, I deduced, that might’ve been the wrong thing to say to this strange boy.

“My name is Kassie. What’s yours?” I c****d my head and put on my most charming, adorable smile to show him I meant no harm.

He hesitated just a moment before admitting defeat. “Micah,” was all he muttered.

“Micah,” I cooed, liking the sound of his name. “You're my friend now. Do you want to play with me?”

“No,” he said, shortly.

I instantly pouted. It worked with daddy all the time, I had assumed it would work with the injured boy, too. And it seemed to wear him down, if only a smidge.

“I…I can’t,” he muttered. “It h-hurts.”

“What does?”

He sounded like it was hard to breathe, as if speaking just took every ounce of strength he had.

“Everything.”

Just then, he swayed. He caught himself on the same white picket fence I had swung over minutes before.The movement seemed to bring him even more discomfort. Micah fell to his hands and knees, unable to hold himself up anymore. His body shook profusely and he started coughing. The smell of blood got stronger when he coughed up blood, spraying the sidewalk.

I kneeled beside him, wrapping a small arm around his larger body.

“Micah…are you okay?”

I heard a slam, followed by quick footsteps coming from the house.

“Kassandra!” My daddy yelled as he quickly approached. He was beside me in a blink of an eye.

His eyes landed on Micah. They narrowed and his lips tightened in concern. Micah, on the other hand, looked frightened by my father. I was certain he wanted to run away, but his condition rendered him unable to.

“Kassie, go find your mother,” my father demanded.

“No,” I said, defiantly. “I’m not leaving him.”

I couldn’t control the urgent feeling to protect the older kid. Looking up at my father, I knew he could tell that.

“Alright, little one. I’ll allow you to protect him. Let’s go,” he said, as he scooped Micah up in his arms as gently as he could.

I reached up and touched Micah’s face with my fingers, letting him know I wasn’t going to leave his side.

“It’s okay, Micah,” I consoled in a soft voice. “We’ll keep you safe. Nothing bad is going to happen anymore.”

~~

My eyes opened suddenly, a gasp escaping my lips. My heart rate was accelerated and sweat matted my hair to my face.

I don’t know why I had dreamt of the day I met Micah, but the thought of it haunted me. What had happened to Micah that caused him to be in such a state? I still had never found out.

Wait…Micah! Sh.it!

I sat up quickly as I remembered what happened the day before, a dull ache shot through me at the movement.

I looked down and saw I was no longer wearing my casual clothes from the day prior but was now donning a pink camisole nightgown. Curious, I pulled it up enough to expose the circular scar on my stomach where the bullet pierced my flesh. It was still tender, but mostly healed. Smoothing the dress back down, I looked around the unfamiliar room.

It was a rather large cozy bedroom with cream walls and white trim. The room was decorated with simple, dark furniture. It was overall plain, a clear indicator of it being someone’s guest bedroom. But what caught my eye the most was the large window to the left of the room that had the light blue curtains drawn open to show the hills and trees expanding far and wide outside. The sun was still rising in the sky, so it must’ve been early morning. Was it really only the next morning?

I pulled off the heavy, thick blue comforter and climbed out of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpeting. As much as I wanted to admire the room, it would have to wait. My nerves wouldn’t be able to calm until I found Micah and made sure he was alright.

People had come and gone in our lives. No one had stuck around for long for various reasons--usually due to my troublesome tendencies--but yet one thing was always definite and that was me and Micah. We were always together, looking out for one another. If anything had happened to him…I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.

I padded down the hallway on bare feet, the hardwood floor cold against my skin. Silently, I passed door after door, each room closed behind it. There had to have been about twelve of them spaced between either side of the hall. I had to wonder if they were all extra bedrooms.

Finally, I came to a wooden staircase that led down to the next level. Going down, I found myself in a large living room with high ceilings that held an overly stuffed red velvet couch. The room was covered in a variety of red, pink, and purple flowers, giving it a very homey feel. Strangely, I liked it, but I had to hold back the sneezes from the floral scents that overwhelmed my overly sensitive nose.

I turned to the right, passing the kitchen, and followed another hallway down where a set of stairs were found leading down into the basement. I slowly descended and followed the path of the wide fluorescent lit hallway.

A quarter of the way down the hall I heard cursing. I stopped and listened closely.

“Fuc.king stop it.”

“If you sit still it won’t hurt.”

“Bul.lshit. I told you, I don’t need help. I’m fine—“

I didn’t need to listen anymore. I ran to the voices, tucked away in the second to last room on the left.

The door to the room was open ajar and light was spilling out into the hall. I could smell Micah through the door. He was in pain and, of course, being a stubborn pain in the a.ss. He was always like that, refusing help.

“Really, little demon, it’s starting to bleed again. I need to get the bullet--” His voice held a slight humor that Micah probably took as belittling.

I heard a smack and I knew Micah hit this guy’s helping hand away.

I rolled my eyes before I pushed the door open, knowing I had to force him into this. When I stepped inside, both sets of eyes turned to me.

I briefly acknowledged the vampire who was trying to help, standing in front of Mic. He was tall, but not quite as tall as Micah. His hair was a golden blonde-brown, each strand different depending on how the light hit it. His eyes were hazel and held a humor that matched his voice. He smirked at me.

“Kassandra, dear, I was wondering when you were going to find your way in here,” the man said, the edge of his fang visible when he talked. Something about him was oddly familiar the more I thought about it.

I ignored him, turning my scowl towards the source of my annoyance.

How was it someone that was so good at taking care of me was absolutely the worst at taking care of himself?

He couldn’t hide the pain. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were like looking into a pool of liquid pain. After all this time, he could never hide it fully from me.

I took him in. He was stripped out of his shirt, and from what I could see, his front was unscathed. The bullet was still lodged somewhere in his back.

I had to tear my eyes away from his bare skin to meet his eyes again. Crossing my arms across my chest, I narrowed my eyes at him, letting him know I was pissed.

“Why are you acting like a dip.shit?”

I expected him to shoot daggers with his eyes and snap back at me about how it was my fault, but instead his eyes trailed down the length of my body. A small shiver went down my spine, reacting to his gaze. Why the hell was he looking at me like that?

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Oh.

I shifted my weight from side to side, remembering the skimpy little nightgown that suddenly seemed too thin and too short.

I wasn’t shy and I was more than comfortable in my own skin. I’ve worn less around people I didn’t even know. But somehow, Micah’s gaze felt…intimate. It was almost as if he was seeing through the dress completely. Normally I liked the attention, but Micah was my best friend and now wasn’t the time for…whatever this was.

“Don’t try to change the subject, asshole. And stop being a fuc.king pain in the as.s,” I chastised. I hopped on the hospital-like bed next to him. He was being a damn chicken.

Don’t get me wrong, Micah had earned the right to be distrustful of people. We both did. But unless he wanted me digging into his wound to pull out a bullet, he didn’t have much choice.

I looked at the golden guy. “You can help him…er…Blondie?”

“Oh, it’s Heath,” he replied slowly, an odd expression crossing his face. Almost as if he was hurt by my words.

“Kass—”

I sent Micah a quick glare. “Shh.”

I was surprised that he didn’t argue, but I wasn’t going to give him a chance to continue to protest and he knew that.

The thing that me and Micah had most in common was our stubbornness. Well, almost. He knew I would go to crazy lengths to get my way.

“Yes, I can help him. I just need him to lay down on his stomach and stay still.”

I slid off to make room for him to lie down. He didn’t move.

“Micah,” I groaned and pushed him gently. He looked at me with shadows under his eyes, but complied after a second of hesitation.

I rolled Heath’s name over and over in my mind as I watched intently as he got to work. I couldn’t shake the feeling I knew him and welcomed it as a distraction.

He carefully examined the bullet wound before he had grabbed his tools—forceps, he called them and started attempting to get the bullet out. I winced.

I was hardly queasy. Normally, I wouldn’t be compelled to look away, but this was Micah we were talking about here. I had to look away. My guilt made it that much harder to watch. Instead, I grabbed Micah’s hand and traced the veins on the back with my thumb. I could attempt to justify that I did it to comfort him, but it was mostly to comfort myself. It was nerve wracking watching his tense shoulders as Heath worked.

I prided myself on being a cold, heartless b***h that everyone knew me as. But Micah was my soft spot. He was my family and I couldn’t help but be protective over him, especially when he was hurt.

He stayed silent the entire time, which was to be expected with Micah. He always just kept quiet, grinned and bared through it. He did, however, grab my fingers in his own hand tightly. It was a bit too tight, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

I bit my lip, hard, as I always did when I was nervous. I continued to stand there awkwardly as I attempted to comfort Micah and myself. Anything to avoid watching Heath work on the bloody wound. Eventually, my eyes wandered back that way anyways. I let out a breath of relief, satisfied to see that Blondie was done and already putting a dressing on Micah’s wound.

Blondie patted Micah’s back once, I guess as a silent job well done and only got a glare in return as Micah sat up.

Micah instantly started to put on his black t-shirt but not before I noticed his condition in full.

It was apparent he had lost weight over the time he had been missing and healing wounds decorated his front. I was confident that there would be matching marks on his back. It was as if he had been whipped and stabbed repeatedly. I didn’t know how I missed it before.

Micah would heal up nicely. I doubt there would be a single mark marring his flawless skin in the next couple of days, but I couldn’t stop myself from standing frozen in front of him, concerned.

He caught me looking after he slid his head through the shirt, and was pulling it down over his stomach.

“Micah…”

Standing up, he walked towards the door as if nothing happened.

“Where do you think—?”

“Out,” he said shortly, cutting me off. “I need some air.”

And he walked out just like that, without a second glance, leaving me speechless.