An Angry Bunny, Blu
The scent of pancakes was what woke him up early that morning. Blinking awake and feeling more comfortable than he had in weeks, he stretched out on the blankets and pillows that made up the “nest.” His hand bumped into the person next to him, and glancing over he saw Mangle stirring awake from their spot.
“Mornin’,” he greeted, sitting up and looking around. There were only two people left in the “nest” besides himself; Mangle and Plushie, the latter of whom was fast asleep, curled up in his brother’s blanket.
“Go to hell,” Mangle groaned softly, turning over to try and go back to sleep.
“Nah, I don’t wanna see my parents right now,” Blu sighed melodramatically, standing to his feet. The scent of pancakes was very tempting... “I wonder where the others are.”
“Downstairs, kitchen,” Mangle responded simply, not expanding on it at all. Blu raised a brow at his friend. Someone’s not a morning person today.
“Right, I can smell that,” he muttered, trotting over to the door. He felt disgusting; he was in desperate need of a shower and had slept in his clothes from the day before. Undoubtedly I look like a mess, too, he thought to himself, wandering down the dark hallway and to the landing of the grand staircase at the front of the house.
Spring’s house was huge- Blu couldn’t imagine someone living in a bigger house. It was beautiful, but it was... lonely. Cold. Quiet.
It wasn’t really a home, no matter how much he and his friends tried to liven it up. It was too big for just five teenagers and a child to bring to life, and though it was their safe haven, sometimes the echoing silence got to them.
Which had led to them accidentally nearly destroying the bowling alley in the basement, but that was a completely different story.
If we were normal teenagers, we’d probably throw parties here, he thought, half-amused at the thought. It was so far from anything any of them would do that just imagining it was almost funny- almost impossible, even.
Realizing that he was just standing on the landing, staring down at the foyer, he moved to walk down the staircase to his right- the one closest to the formal dining room, which was attached to the kitchen. None of them took the narrow, hidden stairwells at the ends of the halls; they were creepy, cramped, and steep. As Alfred had once declared, they were complete deathtraps.
Spring kept the doors at the top and bottom of said narrow stairwells firmly locked to keep Plushie out and safe.
Reaching the bottom, he winced as his bare feet touched the freezing tile. “Ugh,” he groaned softly to himself, tiptoeing over to the dining room door. “Cold, cold, cold...” Unfortunately, opening the door and slipping inside wasn’t much better; the floor was still tile, and it was even colder without the large empty space hanging above. “Spring seriously needs to turn the aircon down,” he muttered, heading across to the kitchen.
Before he reached it, however, he paused, ears twitching. Inside he could hear three voices, but they weren’t speaking. They were singing, forming a beautiful harmony; Alfred’s lower, smoother voice with Spring’s lighter and Chii’s softer voices providing a countermelody. It was a beautiful sound and Blu couldn’t help but smile, tilting his head and twitching his ears.
It seemed like they weren’t really singing any words, just harmonizing their voices. That was okay, though; either way, it made Blu happy.
After several seconds of deliberation, he decided to leave the three of them alone and retreated to the bay window, slipping into the seat and pulling his legs up under him. There was no real reason to disturb them, and they would definitely send someone to get them once breakfast was ready...
The rain had long since stopped and he gazed out towards the trees lining the fence. In the darkness he could just barely make out their outlines, thanks to the street lights on the other side. It was peaceful.
Closing his eyes, Blu leaned his forehead against the glass. It was cold, just as cold as the tile had been, but he didn’t pull away. From across the room he could still hear his three friends’ voices. It almost made him forget the horror that would be waiting for him when he went home that night.
Maybe today will be a good day after all.
He highly doubted it.
Blu felt like turning around and strangling the human behind him. All throughout the class period, the human had been annoyingly throwing things at the back of his head, snickering as the rabbit brushed the items away- broken pencils, folded pieces of paper, any and everything small and barely noticeable.
Walker, the guy behind him, snickered. Blu grit his teeth.
Desperately searching for something to focus on, he found himself observing Mr. Fueller, who was walking around and helping the students struggling with their worksheet. Something about the way he was leaning over a familiar dark-haired human on the other side of the classroom left a bad feeling in his stomach, but he couldn’t quite place what it was...
At least, he couldn’t until the teacher laid his hand on Marion Marshal’s shoulder. Blu practically saw the dreary teen tense up under his baggy clothes, the discomfort of the unnecessary interaction clear in his posture. Mr. Fueller leaned too close and Marion, attempting to put some distance between himself and the mathematician, leaned slightly away.
Blu felt uncomfortable for him.
Another piece of pencil landed on Blu’s shoulder, and agitated, he swept it off, purposefully flicking it back at the brown-haired jackass sitting behind him. It apparently missed; he didn’t hear any exclamation of ‘Mr. Fueller, Rodriguez threw something at me!’ after all.
And the little snitchy pet was well-known for calling other people out on their “bad” behavior.
A pencil poked him in the back and he tried not to wince as the point jabbed through the fabric of his shirt, hitting straight onto a bruise. It was an old, fading bruise, though; it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as his side did. It wouldn’t be too hard to ignore it.
The pencil poked him again. Mr. Fueller finally removed his hand from Marion’s shoulder, the human relaxing as soon as he did, and walked around the classroom, looking down at the worksheets on desks as he did so, assumedly searching for wrong answers.
Blu quickly turned his attention back to his page as the teacher approached him and Spring, scrawling out the equation under the problem he was doing. He knew he’d written it wrong- he had no clue whatsoever what he was doing, after all, no one did- but as the teacher passed, he said nothing. A quick glance up showed Blu that he didn’t even look at him, instead going straight to Jones sitting in front of him.
I don’t like him, he decided as yet another thing landed on his drooping ears. Annoyed, he flicked said ear, making whatever it was drop to the ground. I don’t like Walker, either. Oh my god, will you just stop?!
The bell rang, and Blu let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. Immediately, most of the class jumped up out of their seats and literally ran for the door. The only students left in the classroom were Blu, his friends, Marion, and the Fazcrew, though it was clear every single one of them wanted to get out of there as well.
However, a shout of, “Watch where you’re going!” sounded from right outside the hallway, and the obvious sounds of a fight started, making Blu hesitant to leave. He watched as Mr. Fueller dropped his pencil and raced out the door, presumably to put an end to the fight.
Sighing, Blu stood up and headed over to Alfred’s desk, where his friends had congregated to wait for the rest of class to file out.
“First week of school and there’s already a fight,” Mangle sighed dramatically, leaning on the bear’s desk. “It’s like this place is full of brutes.”
“Give them a break, Mangle,” Spring started. “They’re just letting off steam.”
Mangle opened their mouth to protest when the sound of a smack reached their ears, and all five of them turned their attention to the door where Jones stumbled backwards, hands flying up to his face.
“Ow!”
Blu wanted to laugh so badly, but then Henderson started laughing and it suddenly seemed much less funny.
“Stop laughin’!” the fox growled to his friend, turning to face him.
“Never!” Henderson declared as he continued towards the door, but he failed to notice just how close to the desks he was walking; he proceeded to stumble over the legs of a desk, fall down, and his arm slammed hard into the desk, clearly audible through the room, as he attempted to catch himself.
Blu winced at the sound, remembering suddenly the feeling of being thrown into a wall. He remembered how badly that hurt, and he knew hitting the desk was just a small taste of his everyday life, but still...
“Ow...” the purple rabbit groaned, but he didn’t seem to be badly injured, so Blu turned his attention back to his friends. None of them seemed amused by the rabbit’s misfortune, and Blu had a feeling it was for the very same reason he wasn’t.
Spring was absently rubbing his chest where Blu knew his most noticeable scar- the one that almost killed him- was, undoubtedly remembering the day he’d received it. Alfred’s face, as usual, was drawn into its normal neutrality, but there was a certain look in his eyes that told Blu he wasn’t as unaffected as he’d like to be, and Mangle had taken to gripping their wrist and glancing towards the ceiling, shifting their weight from leg to leg.
Chii was the only one spared from memory lane, but she was peering around at all of them in concern. Not wanting her to worry, Blu flashed her a grin and said, “It’s fine.”
“You don’t look like it’s fine,” she accused, and immediately Spring dropped his hand down by his side.
“We should get to English,” the golden rabbit stated, glancing around at them all. Alfred nodded in agreement, but Mangle gave no indication that they had heard at all. Blu frowned. “It sounds like the fight’s over.”
“Yeah,” Blu agreed, turning back towards the door. The Fazcrew were gone- Blu hadn’t noticed them leaving- and the traffic in the hallway had thinned out. “Before we’re late. I swear Mrs. Mittel has it out for us.”
“Then let’s go,” Spring sighed, heading towards the door. Blu and Chii followed, and Alfred trailed behind, guiding Mangle.
It was a short walk to their English class, but they took it slowly. The seats had already been claimed, after all; they knew exactly where they were sitting.
And, Blu mused bitterly, it was right behind the Fazcrew. Tuesday they’d had to make a pit stop before going to English, so they had almost been late... which resulted in only one group of desks to be vacant when they arrived. If they didn’t want to be split up, they had to bite the bullet and sit behind their least favourite people in the entire school.
When they arrived in the classroom, they wandered to the desks they had sat in last time. Blu slid into his seat, tossing a customary glare towards Henderson’s back- not that the taller rabbit would see it, but it felt nice to do anyway- and settled down. Beside him, he heard Spring’s phone vibrate- his heart almost stopped, but it vibrated only once. He glanced over at Spring, watching him pull his phone out and tap something out on it.
Then the rabbit frowned and began typing something- a text. It must be Mimi, Blu realized, shifting his gaze away. He heard his friend practically slam his phone down on his desk. Whatever it was, Spring obviously does not like it...
Blu watched the Fazcrew. None of them were looking back at them, so that was good, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching. It wasn’t like-
Blinking, Blu’s gaze slid down to Henderson’s arm- the one that hit the desk. It took him a moment to see it through the rabbit’s violet fur, but there was a cut in his arm; the only reason Blu noticed it was because the violet fur was starting to turn red. He’s bleeding, he realized, glancing up at the back of Henderson’s head. He’s bleeding and doesn’t even notice it.
Blood wasn’t easy to get out of fur, and it was even harder to get out of clothes, Blu knew. Plus it didn’t have a pleasant scent, not to mention it meant that someone was injured in some way. Blu hated bleeding, though it was such a normal part of his life, and he wondered if Henderson was even used to it.
The fact that his first instinct hadn’t been check for blood, Blu could only guess not.
After a second or two of silent debate, Blu set his pencil down and leaned forward, lightly hitting the rabbit’s shoulder to get his attention. Henderson jumped slightly in his seat and turned around, his brows drawn together in confusion. Before he could ask anything, though, Blu pointed at his arm.
“Henderson, you’re bleeding,” he stated flatly, watching the rabbit blink at him. Then Henderson turned his gaze to his arm, reaching over to lightly touch the injury.
“Oh. That’s why it still hurts,” he muttered, glancing at the blood on his fingertips. He looked back at Blu, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “Er... thanks,” he said awkwardly before turning to the bear next to him. “I’m gonna go to the nurse, if Mrs. Mittel asks.” The warning bell rang, as if emphasizing the fact that Henderson was about to miss classtime.
“Why?” Fazbear asked, obviously confused, and Henderson simply held his fingers up to show him the blood. “Oh.”
With that, Henderson slid out of his desk and headed for the door, and Blu felt more than a little confused.
He just thanked me. Never before had any of their fellow students thanked him for anything- not that he helped many of them out, but still. When he did, it mostly went ignored.
Especially by the Fazcrew.
Blu picked his pencil up again and began twirling it, shifting his attention over to his friends.
Just don’t think about it. It doesn’t mean anything, Blu.
The sound of a crash echoed through the art room, and Blu looked over towards the fallen fox moments before his cup of ink shattered on the ground, sending ink flying a good six feet in the air.
Flying right in their direction.
With a small shriek, Blu darted away- I can not get ink on my clothes, my parents will flip!- and barely registered Chii hiding and Mangle practically lunging at the counter. He watched, not sure if he should be horrified or incredibly amused, as the ink splashed on Spring and Alfred both, whipping across them and staining their shirts, pants, and in Spring’s case, his face.
Alfred immediately attempted to get the ink off of his bare arm, not wanting it to stain his fur, and Spring seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he had ink on his face.
“Oh shit,” he heard Jones mutter, and he glanced over at the fox as one of the Fazbears- the younger, he registered- helped him to his feet.
“Hey, Al,” Spring started, his tone taking on a playful tone, “you got a little somethin’ on your shirt.” Alfred’s only response was a snort and a tap on his cheek. Spring, obviously, understood, as his eyes widened and his hand flew to his own cheek, lightly touching the liquid seeping into his fur there. Blu grinned.
Then Ashley fucking Creol just had to open her mouth, and Blu’s gaze snapped to the blonde human leaning against her easel. “Well, Springtrap,” she called, her tone just dripping with sugary venom, smirk broadcasting for the world to see just how funny she thought this moment was. “Now you’ve got something to match that ugly scar, huh?”
Blu scowled and walked back over to his friends as Chii came out of hiding and Mangle slid off of the counter and joined them, each glaring at the human.
“Yeah,” Blu snarked, eying the blonde whose gaze now landed on him. Normally he wouldn’t allow such comments to phase him, but Spring’s scars... well, not even the Fazcrew talked about those beyond calling him Springtrap, and that was an immature nickname. Blu didn’t appreciate the little bitch’s trespass. “But it would match so much better with your dead black heart.”
He felt a little knot of satisfaction as the other students’ eyes widened in shock and Creol scowled at him. Before she could respond, however, Mangle added, “If she even has one.”
“True,” Blu gave, crossing his arms. He didn’t take his eyes off of Creol. She was flushing in anger. “Someone like her is nothing but an empty husk, anyway, feeding off of everyone else’s misery.”
No one could even refute it, either. Ashley Creol just loved ruining people’s reputations and destroying friendships. She even targeted her own friends, and everyone knew it.
Her eyes flashed dangerously as she straightened up, her lips twisting into a scowl. “What did you just say, you Mexican fuck?!”
If you’re gonna be racist, get the race right, bitch.
“For the record,” he started with a scowl, eyes narrowing at the human, “I’m Spanish, not Mexican! Learn geography!”
“Whatever,” she scoffed, crossing one arm over her torso and lifting the other to look at, a haughty air about her as she lifted her chin. “You still speak a stupid language, anyway.”
To be honest, Blu wasn’t exactly patriotic to Spain. The memories he had there were just as bad as the memories he had in America. That being said, Blu was fucking proud to be bilingual, he was fucking proud that Spanish was his mother tongue and first language and he was working on becoming multilingual, thank you very much, and if he was honest with himself, he did prefer speaking Spanish over English. It was smoother than English, fell off of his tongue easier and more naturally, and it just in general made more sense to him.
The fact that the first four or five years of his life was spent solely speaking and hearing Spanish might have had something to do with that, but I digress.
He snarled at Creol and started forwards, more than a little satisfied to see the quick flash of fear in the human’s eyes, but then Spring grabbed his shoulder tightly, preventing him from getting any closer to her. “Oh please,” he scoffed at her, “at least Spanish makes sense, English is so weird- it’s an amalgamation of different languages.” He then gasped in mock-horror, lifting a hand dramatically to his lips as he added with false sincerity, “Oops, sorry, I forgot- bimbos don’t know big words like amalgamation!”
He wasn’t sure if it was his show of “patriotism” to a country he wasn’t even born in or his insult to her intelligence that caused the flush of anger to rise to her cheeks. Either way, he felt extremely satisfied as she glared darkly at him. “I will-” she started, but then Mr. Smith finally intervened.
One look at his face and Blu knew they’d all just fucked up.
“That’s enough, you two!” Mr. Smith almost shouted, glaring between Blu and Creol. His face was flushed a strange purplish-red, clearly displeased. “Act your age, all of you!”
“Sorry, Mr. Smith,” Spring started, a nervous lilt to his voice as he pulled Blu back. Blu didn’t fight the stronger rabbit, knowing he had overstepped a boundary somewhere. “Won’t happen again.”
“We’ll see about that,” Blu muttered to himself, earning a glare from Alfred. However, the comment went ignored by both Spring and Mr. Smith.
“Get back to work, all of you,” Mr. Smith commanded, and Blu relaxed as he realized that the artist wasn’t about to actually punish them. “Mr. Salvage, Mr. Fischbach, if you need to go home and change clothes, you’re excused.” Well that was nice of him, Blu mused, but he knew there was no way in hell Alfred was willing to go home. “No more accidents, Mr. Jones,” the teacher added, glaring towards the fox.
“R-right,” Jones stuttered nervously. “Got it.”
“Ms. Sanchez, secure your backerboard properly, and Ms. Creol, easels are not for leaning! You break it, you pay the damages fee, got it?” Mr. Smith’s eyes snapped over to a different part of the room, and Blu managed to glance over and find him looking at Freddy Fazbear, of all people, who was... smirking. As if something Mr. Smith said had amused him. “Mr. Fazbear, get that smirk off your face, and Ms. Sanchez, whatever you’re about to say; don’t.”
As Mr. Smith returned to his desk, everyone else returned to their easels, Jones notably going to get a paper towel to clean up his mess with.
Blu picked his pencil up from where he’d dropped it and looked back at the still life. Across from him, Sanchez turned to look at Creol, and Blu just barely managed to catch her mutter, “For the record, Creol, Spanish is my first language. And I was born in Mexico.”
Blu shared a look with Spring at the defensive statement, but he could understand Sanchez’s feelings at the moment. Her heritage and mother tongue had been insulted by someone who was supposed to be a friend, even in the loosest possible definition of the word. She was probably even more offended than Blu was.
The expression that crossed Creol’s face at Sanchez’s words was oddly satisfying, and for some reason, so were the displeased looks the rest of the Fazcrew sent her way.
Apparently they don’t like racists any more than we do, he mused thoughtfully, continuing his sketch. He found it odd, though; the Fazcrew hadn’t interfered in the almost-fight at all, and now that it was over, they seemed to be against Creol. But that doesn’t mean they’re on our side, either.
Jones popped up, the ink-stained towels in his hand, and he muttered a “sorry” to them before scurrying off to his spilled supplies. Blu kept his eyes on the still life, trying to eyeball the angle of a strangely triangular vase.
They shouldn’t be thanking or apologizing to us. They shouldn’t even by association be siding with us. They should be insulting us, blaming us, like they’ve done for years.
His gaze flicked up from the still life, and not for the first time he found crimson eyes staring at him. Blu held the gaze for a few seconds before tearing his eyes away, looking back at his sketch.
It’s because of Monday, he knew, staring intently at the sketch on his page. It was only half complete. Monday and maybe even Wednesday. When they saw.
We’ve really fucked up, and the first week of school isn’t even over yet.
Henderson was still watching him. He could practically feel the rabbit staring at him, watching for any weakness, but Blu was determined to let nothing show.
I’m done fucking up, he decided, determination filling him suddenly. Whatever you lot are playing at- it’s over.
With that in mind, he continued sketching.
The silence settled over the class like a blanket, smothering even the tiniest spark of life. No one spoke.
He crept, as quietly as possible, up the fire escape, his heart racing much faster than it should have been. He carried only his bookbag with him, having left his guitar in the safety of Spring’s room.
Blu knew he was in major trouble. He had ignored every phonecall his parents made, ignored every single voicemail, didn’t read a single one of their texts- nothing. They were pissed and he knew it, so he left his guitar so that it wouldn’t become collateral damage.
Spring had wanted him to stay another night, but Blu knew it would only make things worse. He was grateful that his friend cared so much about him, but he couldn’t put so much pressure on the rabbit- especially when Spring didn’t have his medicine.
Breathing in the night air, he carefully approached his window and peered into his bedroom. The door was wide open and the covers had been ripped from his bed, as though someone had thought he was lying there and had tried to wake him rather... violently. He shivered at the image in his mind; his mother storming into his untouched bedroom, shrieking at him to get the hell up, you little bitch! And then she would rip the comforter away to find an empty bed. In her anger she would have torn through his room, looking for any trace of him, and then she would begin the phonecalls, the texts, voicemails...
The threats that were in absolutely no way empty.
Taking a deep, steadying breath he began opening the window, wincing at every squeak and creak, praying to whatever deity might have been listening to please don’t let mom or dad hear me...
When no one appeared at the door he continued prying the window open, and as quietly as he could he slipped into the room. The stale air- like dirty clothes, blood, smoke and alcohol- slammed into him and he almost gagged.
Oh god it smells so bad in here, he thought disgustedly, and swiftly he pulled the curtains on his window closed, leaving the window itself slit open. The apartment could definitely use some fresh air. How the hell did I not notice that before?
That taken care of, he spun around and tossed his bag onto the bed where it landed softly and almost soundlessly, and he hurried as quietly as he could to the door, ready to close it and throw the lock into place.
However, the moment he touched the door, a dull blue hand clamped around his wrist, the long yellow-painted nails digging into his flesh.
Flinching, he slowly looked up into the glaring hazel eyes of his mother. There was a snarl on her lips and anger flashed through her eyes.
“Where the hell have you been?” she growled at him, her crushing grip tightening even more.
“I-I didn’t do anything,” he immediately started, but she yanked on his arm, pulling him out into the hallway before he could even begin to explain himself. He stumbled, nearly falling, but her grip on his wrist kept him upright.
“When I call you, you answer you worthless little slime,” she hissed, promptly slapping him across the face. Blu felt her claws- trimmed into perfect little daggers!- slice across his cheek and he whimpered, his free hand flying up to his face. “Where were you?!”
“I-I was with a friend,” he tried to say, but then the rabbit grabbed him by the shoulders.
“You don’t have friends!” she practically shrieked, roughly shaking him so that his head snapped back and hit the wall- when did a wall get behind me?! “Why would anyone want to hang out with a pathetic leech like you?” She shoved him back into the wall, the force knocking the wind out of him. “Where were you really?” she demanded, grabbing his left ear and yanking on it.
He yelped and reached up, attempting to grab her wrist and make it stop please, just stop, but she slapped his hand away without a care. “I-I told you, I was with a friend,” he protested, attempting to back away from her before remembering that his back was already to the wall.
Silently, he wondered if the neighbors could hear this. And if they could, why didn’t they do anything? Even if every word was shrieked and stuttered in Spanish, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on...
It’s simple, Blu. They just don’t care.
You’re just the immigrant’s kid.
An anchor baby, as they say.
No one cares about kids like you.
Kids like you deserve this.
He shoved the sudden thoughts aside a moment before his mother’s hand collided with the side of his head, sending him stumbling to the ground. He tried to catch himself with his hands but the force of the impact only caused more pain in his arms and he collapsed into a crumpled mess on the floor.
“Pathetic,” his mother spat down at him, and then she kicked him.
In the side.
Where he was bruised and cut and not yet healed.
He went pale and cried out in pain, curling up and gripping his side. “S-stop, please,” he cried, screwing his eyes shut. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes as that foot, so small yet so powerful, slammed into his side again.
“Freak,” she growled down at him. “What are you, a man or a child?”
I’m only seventeen! He didn’t say anything, though, instead biting his tongue. If I don’t talk back, maybe she’ll leave me alone.
“Answer me, you fucking bitch!”
Or maybe not...
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, just barely loud enough for the rabbit above him to hear.
“I didn’t ask for an apology,” she snarled, kicking him again. “Answer my question!”
He couldn’t. He knew his answer would be wrong either way.
She grabbed his ears and yanked him back to his feet, glaring angrily at him. His eyes were still tightly closed, but Blu didn’t need to see to know she was glaring at him.
He was so used to the feeling...
Then something slammed into his face- it so did not feel like a hand or a foot- and he let out a pained shriek, jerking back into the wall again. His hands flew up to his left eye, and shocked he opened his right to look the the woman in front of him.
She was holding a now-broken glass bottle in her hand.
She hit me in the face with a beer bottle, oh my god what do I do oh god oh god-
His mother then threw the remains of the bottle at him and he just barely managed to stumble out of the way, it shattering right next to his shoulder rather than on his chest. He could feel blood dripping down his face, through his fur and fingers... it was hot and sticky and such a familiar feeling...
But he had never been hit right there before- not with a bottle, of all things. His mother was usually smarter than that. Trying to open his eye, he could feel the cuts on his eyelid. Already he could feel the ache through the burning pain, telling him that it was going to bruise and, more likely than not, swell.
Mrs. Rodriguez turned on her heel and stalked away, muttering about “useless, pathetic sons,” and all he could do was watch her go. She disappeared into a room and the door slammed shut, and slowly Blu let himself slide down the wall, the rough splintered wood of the wall catching and pulling his shirt up.
The glass on the floor stabbed into his legs, but the pain was nothing compared to what he felt in his face. Tears mixed with blood, literally adding salt to the wound, and it dimly registered with him that he needed to check the damage- maybe it’s not as bad as it feels?
It was a longshot at best, he knew, but it gave him the motivation to climb back up to his feet and stumble into the bathroom. He closed the door as quietly as he could with just one hand, and then he quickly turned the lock and looked into the mirror.
I look like something out of a horror movie, he observed, ears drooping behind him. Even with one hand clamped over his eye, he could see the blood simply pouring down his face. There were five scratches on his still-bruised cheek, and it was so obvious that it was from a hand that he wanted to cry even more.
However, he did consider himself lucky, slowly removing his hand from over his eye. It was pretty awful looking, but from what he could assume, she had swung from the left side; it hadn’t hit his eye directly, it didn’t reach the eyeball itself, and the scratches on his eyelid were clearly from shrapnel. However, the area around his eye- on his brow, under it, and directly to the left of it- looked raw.
It made his stomach squirm. He could see some glass still stuck where she had struck him, so shoving the squeamish feeling aside, he began slowly picking the glass out, wincing at every sharp sting of pain.
What was that rule again...? Head injuries need doctors? Well... I don’t think this counts, he decided, shivering at the thought of a doctor. He grabbed a rag- not really good for this job but it’s all I have- and poured water over it, then carefully he began dabbing at the cuts.
It burned, but he had to clean them. First step, remove the blood and dirt, he quietly told himself as he did just that. Once the blood was removed, however, it looked a lot less severe. Noticeable, yes, but much less severe. Now for the actual cleaning.
The thought made him shudder; it was going to hurt even more. But, he knew, it would be better in the long run.
Clean it now and feel the pain for a little bit, or get an infection, go to a hospital, possibly lose your eye, and live in pain for possibly weeks? Yeah, that’s an obvious choice.
He chose not to think about the fact that, by every right, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
Silently, he wondered what he would say to his friends. He wondered what he would say to his teachers. What he would say to nosy and/or concerned classmates.
What he would say to Henderson.