FicWad

I lay in the bathroom, not caring enough to do anything about to still bleeding cuts on my hip. It could've been 5 minutes, or 5 years that passed since I hung up on Andy, and I couldn't tell you which. But that didn't matter to me in the slightest.

Soon enough, I heard footsteps outside the bathroom door. I took in a deep breath, in case it was someone I didn't want to see, even though I couldn't guess how they'd gotten into my room, the door being locked and all. The bathroom door creaked opened, revealing one person I wanted to see, but also couldn't stand. Andy.

"What the hell, Ashley?" He snapped, shutting and locking the door. I gulped. This already wasn't a very pretty situation. "Andy..." I mumbled.

"What?" He snarled at me.

"How'd ya get in?" I asked, my words sloshing together slightly, as if I'd had a couple drinks.

"I fucking climbed through the window. How much did you drink?"

"Nothin." I mumbled, my mind somewhat fogged over, like if I hadn't slept, or at all, even.

"Then what the fuck did you take?" He practically growled at me. "Nothing." I whispered. My eyes didn't seem to want to stay open. The next thing I knew, Andy was pretty much sitting on me, one of his bony knees digging into my sliced hip. I hissed in pain, saying, "Get off!"

"No."

I tried to shove him off, only to get slapped sharply across the face. "The fuck?" I asked.

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his icy eyes, before saying, "Ashley Purdy, you're going to tell me exactly what you did."

"I didn't do anything." I said, only to be slapped roughly again.

"If you claim you didn't do anything, then why the fuck am I here?"

"All I did was cut... I swear!" I whispered, a tear leaking out of the corner of one of my eyes. God, I hated looking so weak, especially in front of Andy.

"Let me see."

"But I already took care of it."

His hand cracked against my skin yet again, before he said, "I told you to show me."

I held up my shaking arm, wrapped in bandages, and my other hand scrabbled helplessly, trying to rip off the dressings. However, I was unable to. The weakness resulting from blood loss is a real bitch, just like karma.

The skinny creature in the room with me sighed impatiently, smacking my hand away. "Fucking weak." I could hear him mutter as he tore the bandages off. I could see that most of my cuts were still bleeding below the gauze, in spite of the butterfly strips.

"You called this taken care of? Were you trying to bleed out? Or are you just too fucking stupid to understand you need to stop the bleeding before you wrap it up?" He snapped at me, angry at me even though I'd done the best that I could.

In response, I let out a slight hiccup, and mumbled, "'m sorry."

"Yeah, you'll be fucking sorry when you bleed out."

"I'm sorry." was all that I could manage. The fog was growing thicker by the minute.

Andy sighed, and rolled his eyes. "All you do is fucking apologize. You shouldn't have done this shit in the first place."

"I know."

"Then why the fuck did you do it?"

"Because... I live in hell..."

"And mine is that much better?" He practically yelled, forgetting that he was in a house of sleeping people.

"Never said that."

"Whatever." He huffed, before going to retrieve a washcloth, only to find all the ones in the bathroom were soaked in blood.

"Nightstand, top drawer." I mutter, drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Nobody fucking asked you." He snapped, but going and getting a stack of the thing anyways. Asshole.

I was mostly out of it when he returned, sitting in front of me. "Wake up!" He yelled, slapping my face again. I jerked out of my stupor, before saying, "It's not like I'm going to die."

"I don't give a fuck." Andy spat. God, how I hated the smug, skinny body right now. He moved so he was sitting on he again, his knee jabbing into my injured hip. I tried to pull away, fully aware now, but he held me down. "If this is the only way to keep you awake..." He said, not finishing his sentence, but it was all to clear to me what he meant by that.

I just let out a whimper. I didn't like how any of this was going. I shoulda replied sooner, then this wouldn't be happening. Then, Andy's hand was pressing a clean rag against my arm. I let out a slight whine of pain. It hurt more after the 'high' of cutting was over. "Shut up." Andy hissed.

Ever word out of his mouth made me feel worse.

The amount of pressure he was applying to my arm was making it go numb, but I refused to say anything. I refused to keep looking so weak in fron of him, of all people. Soon enough, he removed the cloth, and the several others he had to layer on top of it. "You need stitches." He said.

"But I-"

"Those fucking little butterfly strips can't help you." He interrupted me.

The thing was, it wasn't a butterfly strip that I was going to suggest. It was ice. The last time I'd had to get stitches, while they'd had a numbing spray right fucking there, they didn't use it. And the doctor was none too gentle about putting in the stitches either. He'd pulled and tugged unnecessarily, and even ridiculed me about being in pain over needing the stitches. And all that happened at a children's hospital, FYI. And yes, I was still a little shaken over it, and fucking wary of anyone coming near my skin with a needle and thread.

Andy dropped his backpack to the floor. I didn't even notice he had it with him. He dumped out the contents. SO many medicals supplies. Looks like he had just dumped the entire first aid kit at his house into his bag. His hands made a beeline to the rubbing alcohol, and the cotton pads. I gulped loudly.

Before opening the rubbing alcohol, Andy turned to me, and said, "You're probably going to scream."

I didn't reply to it. He took off his scarf, tying it around my head, effectively gagging me. "Now just relax, and it'll be all over soon." He said, pecking me on the forehead, before shoving me so I was laying down. Then, he opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol, soaking a cotton pad in the clear substance. This was going to be painful.