Her
by Roaming
Tigress
Bree turned away so that she could conceal the tears. "I . . . I wanted to kill you because . . . You said something I didn't want to hear. I wanted to make it look like you attacked me, and I killed you in self defense."
"You have every right to fear going into jail," Carlos replied as he tore off his sleeve and wrapped it around her wound, wincing as he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. "It's . . . It's a very dark place. What goes on it if you're not top dog, I won't get into. You are a smart woman. You could've done it, and gotten away with it, all without needing to hurt yourself. You're good with bleach."
When it came clear to her that Carlos' pain was becoming too much, she eased him onto his side and lifted his shirt so that she could take a better look at the injury. She knew the logical thing to do would have taken him straight to the hospital, but Bree knew he would have to fill out a police form. Thus, she was left with only two options; to leave him to die, as she had done with George, or to take on the role of being a nurse.
Bree had chosen the latter. She envisioned Gabrielle in her place, as a widow, and did not like to see what she saw. "If you do not stop with this talk of death, I will have to hurt you a little more than I actually have to."
"Yes, dear . . . " Carlos moaned, already feeling the sting of antiseptic as she left to retrieve medical supplies.
He hated to be left alone, if even if it was only for the three minutes she spent away from him. What if he died, all alone? In the shape he was in, it was a justified fear. Even in a state of perfect health, Carlos had always feared dying alone and had always put blame on his insecurity on it.
"Bree . . . Where are you?" With unsteady legs, he got up and grabbed the rail of the staircase while his other hand remained clenched over his wound.
She gasped as she came down, almost dropping the first aid kit on the way. "Carlos, get on the couch. Right now."
Whatever is he thinking, getting up and moving about in the shape he's in?
"I . . . I had to find you . . . I was afraid, I felt so alone . . . " Carlos explained, easing himself down on the couch with Bree's assistance. "I know, it's pathetic. You were away for a few minutes and here I was, getting a case of separation anxiety."
To Bree, it didn't sound it pathetic in the least -- she could relate to that fear, but when the doorbell ringing once again, she was forced to leave him once more. Just before she did, though, Bree gave him a short, comforting rub to his chest.
"I'll be right back, dear. I promise."
On the doorstop was Julie and Susan. Without even needing to ask, Bree knew the reason for them being there. Damn it! If I went after him with a knife instead . . . !
"We heard the gun go off," Susan said, shaken. "Thought we'd come over here and just see if everything was all right."
Though she appreciated the concern, Bree's heart started to pound. Once a neighbour manages to suspect something happening with another, they usually find out what they're hiding -- as she had discovered for for herself. Nothing stays a secret for long, but if she played the cards right, she could delay the process.
"Oh, I'm fine. I was just polishing the rifle and it went off."
Behind them, on the sidewalk, stood several of the other neighbours. McClusky, the Scavos, Ida Greenburg; they were all there, waiting to pick up any hints of what was going on.
"I mean it, it was an accident!" Bree insisted, almost accusationally.
"We believe you," Julie reassured. "We're good friends, aren't we? We would never accuse you of lying."
Bree sighed, putting a hand to her forehead and keeping her injured one behind her back. "I apologize . . . It's just that I've been feeling a bit off today. I think the Osso Bucco I did last night was a bit undercooked."
"Well, if you have any problems, let us know," Susan replied, getting over the shock of the rifle going off. "I had plans to go to a children's book writing convention, but if you're not feeling well -- "
Julie rolled her eyes at her mom's prying. "Mom, I think she'll be fine."
"Julie's right. I will be fine!" Bree said sweetly, squeezing her hand. "I want the both of you to go about your day and not worry about me. I get these stomach viruses once in a while, they're absolutely nothing to worry about."
"Alright, well . . . " Susan smiled, fiddling with a strand of her hair while Julie grabbed her arm as a signal to get going. "I hope you feel better soon."
"I just need a lie down," Bree nodded. "I do appreciate the concern, Susan. I want you know that."
Carlos listened as Bree lied, knowing that it was only a matter of time until the police would be brought in. No doubt, she would suspect him of being the one who tipped them with the information. After all, he was the one who she shot and subsequently assaulted.
"So . . . What should I do?"
Bree did not reply as she took the antiseptic from the white tin. "Now, this is going to sting, just hold still and don't kick me . . . "
"Bree, what am I going to -- ARGH!"
She grimaced, almost feeling his pain. A little hydrogen peroxide was added and she held his hand as he cringed. "I took them forever to figure out it was Paul Young who killed Martha. Accidents happen all the time. You will say that you distracted me while I was cleaning it, and it went off."
"How would I be able to explain to Gabrielle that I was in your place?" He asked, surprised that the extraction of the bullet was less painful than what he had anticipated it to be. "That I was . . . Picking up my newly darned socks . . . Sampling your muffins?"
She winked, twisting around his second idea. "The latter would work."
Bree felt as if her hand was going to break from Carlos' tightened grip as she set work to the next step, and perhaps the most painful one -- especially without anesthetic -- stitching up. With Rex being a doctor, it was only natural that he had obtained a surgical stitcher stored away for emergencies, but alas, the bottle of local anesthetic had gone past it's expiration date. Even if she injected Carlos with it, it wouldn't do any good.
She as finished off, she put Carlos through a little more suffereing as she lightly dabbed the area with alcohol. "There, all done. They'll dissolve on their own."
"You're just hellbent on putting me through pain, aren't you?"
Irregardless of his complaint, it was no surprise that her repairwork on him turned out to be as flawless as the ones she had made to her's and her family's clothing. A surgeon could do no better, he admitted, but even the best of surgeons could not fit the damage that laid ahead.
