Sorry I have not been on a roll recently! Hopefully this all makes sense. Most of it was written before I got a concussion so it should be ok. Apparently my judgement is a little off so let me know if it needs a rewrite.
Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate them.
Street groaned. He blinked, forcing his eyes open trying to work out where he was. He was on the floor. One side of his face was tight, touching confirmed there was something caked to it. Most of it was dry, but there were some sticky bits left. His eyes verified it was blood as he looked at the congealed substance on his fingers.
'Chris,' he called out, but his voice was fractured. There was no reply. It was quiet around him. Pulling himself quickly to his feet he shoved down the dizziness. He needed to find her now. He had no idea how long he had been out. He moved into the doorway leaning heavily as he looked out to the rest of the apartment.
'Chris,' he called again. His voice was more put together this time, but his mind was starting to grasp the reality that he had lost her.
Slumped against the door frame it took him longer than it should have to notice the droplets of blood on the carpet. Street could only blame the blow to the head as he slowly followed the red breadcrumb trail to realise it didn't go to the front door, rather it lead directly to the bathroom. He stumbled unsteadily to the door barely registering just how long it was taking him. He opened the door without thinking and just stared in at Chris bent over the toilet heaving. He knew he should be able to hear her being sick, but his world was quiet.
She wiped her mouth and turned to look up at him, a look of exhaustion on her face. He fell to his knees in front of her taking her face in his hands.
'What happened?' he studied her face and head for injury under the blood that was smeared over her. He carefully tilted her head around with his hands. When he couldn't find an injury his eyes came to rest on hers. She brought her hands up and took hold of his bare wrists and pulled them down away from her face.
Street felt like he'd lost something once she'd removed his hands from her face. She pulled her body away from his, trying to put some space between them. Her hands left his wrist bloody as they still bled freely, the glass still embedded.
'Chris,' he scolded her. All thoughts about her pulling away from him lost as he worried about her. He grabbed her hands in his turning the palms up to get a better look at them. The coloured glass shone between the blood in the bright lights of the bathroom as it jutted out of her palms. 'What happened?' he ask asked again.
The look of confusion on Streets face almost brought her to tears. He was worrying about a few little cuts on her hands when he had a huge gash on the side of his head, that she had put there. She was not going to feel guilty for this. She had enough to feel guilty for and this was not going to be something to add to the list. This was his fault. He'd brought her here; and tied her up. She was well within her right to try and escape.
But the way he was looking at her quelled her anger. Dam she needed to be angry. Anger was the only think that made any sense in this situation. Anything else was messy. And Jamie wasn't going to do messy; or was she Chris? She let out a frustrated sigh catching Street off guard.
He watched her chest rise and fall as the puff of air escaped her lips. He had taken that as her answer to his question as to what had happened, and he wasn't quiet sure what to do with it. Street released Chris's hands gently to her lap. He stood silently going to the sink to find what he needed. Above the sink was a cupboard with supplies. The cupboard had a mirror door and as Street went to pull it open he found himself frozen looking at his own reflection. One half of his face was streaked with red that had flowed freely from a nasty looking cut at his temple; but it was the other half that had him transfixed.
Her hand, it had to be, was printed on his face in blood. She'd touched his face. His eyes fell to his neck where there were two side by side smudges. She'd stopped to check his pulse. He remembered now. She'd desperately tried to get away from him and hit him with the lamp to do so.
The cupboard opened, the supplies were removed, and the door was closed. He turned to face her fully expecting her on the floor at his feet. He hadn't heard her move. She was no longer in view and he wondered how she had managed it.
'Chris,' he called out to her as he made his way out of the bathroom. He settled a bit as he found her in the kitchen rummaging through a cupboard. She pulled out a large first aid kit and set in on the counter.
She unzipped it and set about finding what she needed. A bowl of water, plastic wrappings and gauze were all set on the side before she turned to Street.
'Sit,' Street saw her mouth to him. Slowly the cogs fell into place and he realised that he hadn't heard her, that he hadn't heard anything since he'd woken up. Chris registered the panic on his face, but couldn't work out why it was there.
'It's ok. We need to get that cut cleaned up.' Chris lead him the the stool beside the counter and watched him, as if he might fall at any moment, as he climbed up onto it.
Chris turned her back on him and set about dipping a cloth into the bowl of water. When she turned back her lips were moving as she carried the bowl and placed it between them. She rung out the cloth and hesitated for a moment before placing it on the side of his face. It was warm and he watched the once white cloth dip into the clear water turning it instantly red. He watched her face as she worked. She was gentle, but worked quickly. His eyes ran over her face. The face he loved, but he could only look at it with sadness. It shouldn't be so hollow, so empty of emotion. Her sunken cheeks only reminded him of how malnourished she was. Her lips started moving again.
'I can't hear you,' Street watched her face fall. She started speaking again, more quickly this time. She was looking at him when she finally stopped. They looked at each other for a moment before she put down the cloth in her hand and started signing. Street watched her bloodied hands moving between them.
'I can't sign,' he finally said still watching her hands. 'We need to sort your hands.' He reached out for them but Chris picked the cloth up and continued to dab at his face. She'd cleaned out the bowl of water a handful of times by the time Chris had finished wiping off the rest of the blood off Street's face. Street couldn't help but wince as Chris pushed his cut together and stuck the skin closure over the top.
'Sorry,' he'd been able to lipread that one.
'It's your turn now,' Street tried to catch her hands in his but she evaded him. She went to the bathroom and by the time he caught up with her she had a pair of tweezers buried into her palm pulling glass out. 'I can help.' Street offered, but Chris ignored him. She pulled out another couple of pieces placing them side by side on the side of the sink. Her blood was dripping onto the basin and sliding down the white porcelain and into the plug. Street watched her face as she concentrated. She showed none of the pain she must be feeling. Another piece of glass was placed next to the others.
Street saw his opportunity to help when she switched hands. Her left hand wasn't so steady and without saying anything Street gently took the tweezers from her and took her hand in one of his. He hadn't expected her to give in to him, but she let him continue. Street noticed that she kept her eyes strictly on the palm of her hand. Maybe his staring as she'd cleaned up his face earlier had made her uncomfortable.
Street didn't work quickly like Chris had. He took his time to be careful trying not to hurt her. As he placed a bloody piece of glass beside the others it slipped and bounced down into the sink. His mind was still a little fuzzy but he was suddenly very aware that he couldn't hear the glass; it should have made a noise. It's just the concussion, Street told himself sealing in his panic. It would return. He couldn't do his job if it didn't return.
Street dropped the tweezers, but was frozen into his thoughts by what he might have just lost. Chris took her hand from his, picked the tweezers up and started cleaning them off. Pausing half way through she realised that Street hadn't moved.
'Street,' he didn't respond. Then she remembered that he couldn't, he didn't even know she had spoken. 'It's going to be ok,' she took his hands in hers. She couldn't help but speak to him. His eyes slowly came to rest on hers. He looked so hurt and scared, she didn't know what to do, they couldn't even communicate.
She looked down at their hands holding onto one another and felt guilty. Her hands were still bleeding and leaving smears of blood on his. She tried to pull away but Street wouldn't let her, he just held on tighter.
'We're in a mess,' she told him. Only filling the silence for her own sake. Chris didn't try to pull away again.
It was Street who made the first move. He'd pulled himself together, picked up the tweezers and continued with his task of removing the glass.
Street did the best he could bandaging her hands, but it wasn't his forfeit. As he taped down the last edge of bandage he realised Chris now had two choices. To run, or to stay of her own accord. He was holding her wrist to steady her hand. The tape was stuck and he pictured her getting up without a word and leaving. His grip tightened, his finger encasing her wrist.
