“Oh fuck” is all I manage to say.
I expect a similar expletive in return. Nothing.
“Care?”
And then I look at her properly. See the unnatural tilt of her head. See the blood pooling beneath her.
I scrabble over to her. See the split skin and bleeding red on her temple. Hear again the crack of her skull against the countertop as she went down. See the sharp corner with a small slash of red so delicate it couldn’t be part of something so ugly.
“Care?”
Her eyes are open, searching.
“I’m here, Care.”
A low, gravelly groan comes back to me. “Natty.”
Desperate, I crawl closer. I try not to touch the blood. Try not to look into the eyes that have a hard time locking onto me although I’m right in front of her. My hands cup her soft face, so warm. My desperation is clawing its way up my throat. I want to scream. And the pain and panic are only intensified by the knowledge that this is my fault; I keep being drawn to monsters like a moth to a flame, and this time, it’s left my sister bleeding on a kitchen floor. I know I’ll have to come clean when she recovers. I know she’ll never forgive me.
Fix this. I have to focus, fix this.
I’m up on my feet lightning fast. Phone. Where’s my phone?
Aha. The counter.
And then, 99…
I freeze before the final digit. There’s a dead man in my kitchen, after all. I take a brief second to think. Time is not on my side. I have to get help. I have to save Claire.
And so I dial. I don’t know how I do, but I dial, and after a few rings, she picks up.
“So you’ve remembered your mother exists, then?”
“Mom.” It’s more a guttural choke than a word.
“Baby? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“It—it’s Claire.”
Perhaps it’s her mother’s intuition. Perhaps it’s my obvious distress. She goes quiet for a beat and then says, “Where is she? What’s happened to her?”
“She’s hurt. I need you to tell me what to do.”
Immediate denial. “What are you talking about?”
“She came over to see me. I hadn’t seen her in so long. And I was in trouble, Mom. George was meant to be out, but he came home and…I don’t know how, but things got so out of hand, and he shoved her. I didn’t think it was bad, but she hit her head on the way down…Mom, I don’t know what to do, I—”
“She’s not going to die from a silly fall. Is she conscious?”
I can feel the muscle memory of my mother’s time on the wards snapping into place. Thank god. This is what I need. I rush back to Claire’s side, try saying her name, louder this time. She gives a soft groan.
“Yeah, bu—”
“And she’s breathing normally?”
The back of my hand goes to her pillowy lips. Soft breath fogs on my skin in a regular rhythm. “I guess so, Mom. But you don’t get it. Her head’s bleeding. Like, a lot.”
“It’swhat?”
