"Please, don't do this." I had never felt this helpless. Fitz had me cornered against the lockers, with the knife poking out from his fist glinting under the Christmas lights in the doorway. I could faintly hear Clare's muffles breaths. Telling Fitz that he had won wasn't good enough. He drew back the knife, glaring into my face.
"Well, somebody's got to shut you up!" He flung his hand in my direction, so smoothly I barely realized what had happened. Clare screamed behind me, and then I felt the pain, spreading so fiercely that I had to hold my breath. My eyes slowly crept back up to Fitz, who had pulled the knife away from my flesh with a sickening sting. He held it up in front of me, my blood dripping from the blade. My knees buckled and I slowly slid down the wall. I could barely think, and all I could register was Clare beside me, her fingers gently caressing mine as I heard her sobs shake her. I thought I was seeing wrong when I saw Fitz go pale. His eyes widened when he absorbed what the thick maroon substance trickling to the ground was.
"Holy shit! Eli, dude … I – I didn't…" Fitz faltered.
I gripped her hand harder, my head landed in her lap. Clare was surprisingly bold as she glowered up at Fitz and swore into his face. And even more unexpectedly, he looked at the ground, weak for once. The light coming from the police officer's flashlight blinded me momentarily, and when I opened my eyes Fitz was gone. Tears that I couldn't control silently slid down my face. I looked up and all I saw was Clare.
"Oh God Eli, Oh God I'm sorry!" she cried down to me. My feeble attempt to try and sit up was blocked by her hand, coaxing me down again onto her knees. The warm blood saturated my jacket and was creating a pool around us, and I clutched my stomach, as if it would push the substance back into me. I felt like shit to put Clare through this. I scarcely choked out an apology, and that made her bawl even harder. There was something said about an ambulance coming any minute, but I was sure that I would never live to see the hospital. Because of my stupid pride, I had caused this to happen to Clare, to me, to us. The voices around me grew softer; the objects around me appeared less clear, rough around the edges. I was struck with pure fear, the dread pulling my mind even farther from my surroundings. But I could still see Clare perfectly clear, I could feel her fingertips enveloping my white knuckles, and the only thing I could do was look into her eyes and try to stay conscious.
I tried to absorb every feature of her face in that moment. I wanted to memorize her thick auburn curls that surrounded her round face, her soft eyes that were diluted by her tears. The way that she was loyal, and never gave up on me, how she still thought I was a good person and thought that she was the one committing wrong. I needed her as much as she needed me; she accepted me, had helped me. I loved her, and I never got the chance to tell her.
I wanted to remember Clare, in hell.