♟
Guilt.
It’s a word that means self-hatred is eating him alive, starting from deep within his body. It chews up his sense of pride, then spits it back in his face. It leaves his lungs burning from lack of air, his throat parched as a cracked desert ground, and his eyes welling with tears. It makes him shut his eyes tight because he wants the lights to go out, he doesn’t want to exist unless he can go back in time and stop himself from making such a stupid mistake.
He brushes the back of his hand across his nose as he sniffs, and his lower lip wobbles. Samuel forces himself to look at the ugly gash on Nate’s arm. The medical kit in his hands shakes, slips from his fingers, and busts open on the floor.
“I-I didn’t mean it,” he says quietly.
He drops to his knees and scoops up the fallen equipment. Disinfectant, a tube of slimy gel to keep out bacteria, some pain killers, and gauze strips. “You must hate me,” he says. “You...you don’t hate me, do you?”
His tired, yellow eyes plead for forgiveness.
“You’ll probably hate me more after this because it might sting a little” he sighs. He douses a cotton ball in disinfectant, then gently grabs Nathaniel’s arm. “Please, please just -- just hold still, I know it hurts.”
He dabs the gel around the edges of the wound, keeping each tap as light as possible. There are beads of sweat collecting on Nathan’s forehead, which Sam pats down with a tissue. If it weren’t for his shallow breathing, poor Nate could be mistaken for dead all slumped against the gymnasium wall. Samuel rifles through the kit for some baby wipes, figuring that they would feel cool against his friend’s skin.
So, he pulls a handful of baby wipes from the back, folds them, and presses them against Nathaniel’s forehead. “Just a few more seconds, then it’ll be bandaged up,” he says. His voice is so gentle -- so heavenly softspoken -- but he was anything but gentle a few minutes ago.
Samuel hardly remembers what he’d done only moments ago. He only remembers bits and pieces of angry growls and clawing at someone to release his rage. It’s nothing but a mess in his mind.
He wraps the gauze tight around the wound.
“See? You’ll be okay now that it’s all wrapped up,” he says. “Let me see the others.”
