"No!" Remington and I shouted at the same time.
"Why the fuck not? He needs stitches. He could have a concussion!"
"Whoever did this told me I couldn't take him to the hospital and I couldn't call the cops. He threatened to do worse than this if I did. He sent me a picture of myself sleeping from outside my window.”
"Christ," West sighed. "Hang on. Let me see if we can take him to Axel's. He has…facilities we might be able to use to get him cleaned up." West checked his pockets for his phone but came up empty. "Shit, my phone's inside. I'll be right back."
He ran back to his house and I cradled Remington's bloody head in my lap, trying to keep him and myself as calm as possible. Tears welled up in my eyes as he continued to swell and blood trickled from his head onto my legs. It felt like an eternity waiting for West to come back. Once he did, he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a black hoodie. He had a blanket and a handful of towels.
"We can take him to Axel's. His sister will meet us there. She can patch him up."
West put the blanket on the passenger seat for Remington. He ran back over to us and picked Rem up off me like he weighed nothing. He put him in the car and I crawled in the back.
"Here," West handed me a stack of towels. "Keep pressure on his head wound to try and stop the bleeding. We'll get there as fast as possible."
"Thank you, West."
I took the towels and kept them pressed to Remington's head as we drove to the north side. My mind was spinning with everything going on. "Who did this, Rem? What are their names? Was it your supplier?"
West huffed from the driver's seat, fueled with rage and disgust.
"Ye–yeah. I’m in deep shit, Ash." Remington's head drooped to the side and his eyes fluttered.
"Hey, try to stay awake," I said as I shook him.
When we got to Axel's house, or should I saymansion, he and his sister were waiting outside for us. On the way over, West had told us that Avery was a pre-med college student and helped them whenever they needed stitches or a dislocated shoulder popped back into place. Thankfully she agreed to work on Remington.
"Remington Hawthorne, it's been a minute. How the mighty have fallen," Avery said as her eyes danced around Remington's swollen face.
"Avery McKinley," he said with a smirk, even with eyes swollen to the point of slits.
"You two know each other?" I asked.
"We went to school together," explained Avery. She had caramel skin, dark brown hair, and sea green eyes, just like her brother. They looked like they could be twins.
Axel helped West haul Rem's beaten body to one of their spare rooms that was stocked with a hospital bed, sink, and other miscellaneous medical supplies. There was even an IV drip and a heart monitor. Don't ask why the McKinley's had a room stocked with the shit in their house.
I stood by the bed and held Remington's bloody hand as Avery cleaned up his head. She worked methodically, which calmed my nerves a little bit. It looked like Remington was in good hands, even if we couldn’t take him to a hospital.
"It doesn't look too bad. Maybe twelve to fifteen stitches," she said as she inspected the biggest cut. "I'll get this stitched up and then we can check the rest of you."
Remington nodded, still struggling to keep his eyes open. Axel brought in a few ice packs and I helped put them on the various places that Remington said were hurting, which ended up being mostly his abdomen. He likely had some cracked ribs. Whoever his supplier was had done a knock-out job on him. No pun intended.
"Okay, I'm going to check him out so if you all wouldn't mind giving some privacy," Avery said as she ushered us out of the room. "It shouldn't be too long."
"If you want to get cleaned up, the bathroom's just down the hall to the left." Axel pointed down the seemingly endless hallway.
I looked down at myself and saw the dried blood on my hands and thighs. My eyes focused on the red as everything around me blurred.
"Hey, he's going to be okay.” West grabbed my face with his large hands and looked me directly in the eyes. "Remington's okay. Let's go get you washed up." He took my arm and guided me to the bathroom. I was moving on autopilot, the image of my bloodied brother replaying in my mind on a loop.
The blood. The threats. The photo.
Whoever hurt him wasn’t done.
I looked in the mirror as West turned on the hot water and began opening drawers, looking for a washcloth. Not even an hour ago, I was doing my hair and makeup getting ready for work. I looked like a mess. My eye makeup had smeared down my face making me resemble a raccoon–so much for being waterproof–and blood was dried on my neck.
West wet a washcloth and began rubbing my neck with it gently. "Is the water too hot?"