Page 72 of Left In The Dark

I laugh, shaking my head, and lean against the barn door as I respond one more time.

Me: See your ass tomorrow.

Jimmy: Damn straight you will, jackass fucker.

I sputter another laugh and switch back to the camera footage. Blake is awake. I push off the door and zoom in on him as he’s carving something into the wooden boards behind him. I got him a notebook and he’s still writing shit on the walls. I’m about to put my phone in my pocket, and as I’m turning around, I almost drop my phone.

He’s biting on his finger and waving his hand around. His face scrunches up and he cries out, holding his closed fist to his chest as he folds in on himself.

He’s hurt. He sits up a little, and as he does he presses the tool he used to carve on the wall into his finger and blood drips down to his wrist. What is he doing? That’s how you get infections. I tug on my mask and open the door in a hurry.

“What’s going on, little piglet? Is that you making all that noise, or is it the new baby pigs?”

He screams and his chain scrapes against the wood. “I have a splinter.”

I grit my teeth. “Okay, don’t do anything to make it worse. I’ll go get the tweezers. I got you a notebook for a reason.”

“Old habits die hard,” he calls out, his voice straining, and I almost laugh at that until his sobs remind me of how much pain he’s in.

“I’ll be back. No more touching the walls while I’m gone.”

He doesn’t say anything, or at least I don’t stay long enough for him to as I pad off to the house.

There are so many different sewing kits in my mom’s bathroom under her sink, but most of the needles are dull. I rummage through the bottom of one and pull out a pack of new ones. I get a lighter from the kitchen drawer after that and wave the flame over the thin steel. When I feel it’s sanitized enough, I shove some Band-Aids and alcohol wipes into my pocket. Lifting my face to the mirror, I adjust my mask.

Look what he’s doing to me. He has me in here acting like a damn madman over a splinter. It’s not anywhere close to a life or death situation, but his cutting into his finger could lead to it being one. Either way, he needed me. He couldn’t take care of his injury himself, so I needed to intervene.

I reach him and fresh tears are gathering at the corner of his eyes as I drop to my knees in front of him.

“Let me see it, baby.”

His eyes widen. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize what I was saying. Let me see your hand, Blake.”

He looks at his finger and me. “Don’t call me that either.”

“What should I call you, then?”

“I’m your piglet, remember?”

My heart flutters. Damn him for making me fucking melt like this over something so damn simple. That’s about as simple as it gets with us. Everything else is complex, and I’m beginning to think it’s why I keep coming back.

Simple is easy, and nothing good ever came easily to me.

“Of course you are. Let me see your hand, piglet.”

Eyes sparking with something, he splays out his shaking fingers. I frown at the tattered skin. I clean the bloody area with an alcohol wipe and he flinches, and I keep his hand in place, blowing on it.

“Sorry. I have to get it clean so we don’t spread bacteria around.”

He sucks on his bottom lip, heavily studying everything I do, and his brows shoot up when I press the needle to where the splinter is. I take my time, being as gentle as possible, and his eyes squeeze shit, his jaw tightening.

“Almost got it out. How are you liking your new things? Have you used the coloring books?”

His eyes slowly peel open and he shakes his head.

“Are you liking the music I downloaded for you?’