Bloodline [h.s.]

fifty.

content warning: discussion of sexual assault

The feeling of the earth hugging my ankles as I let them sink into sand after a long run. Digging my heels against its grains as I once held back the tide inside me that burned for her. For the longest time, the embrace of sand and saltwater was the closest comparison to physical comfort I knew. The sand was my peace. The beach was the closest feeling to home.

I looked down at the sand I recognised more than my own hardwood floors. And there's a line. A fat line of crimson saturating the same grains that held so much comfort. I looked up at her.

My fucking Bee. Her perfect dress was unrecognisable. That asshole tore it apart. Her perfect hands trembled in her lap, blood staining her perfectly manicured nails. Her perfect, blonde waves were stuck to her skin, saturated in red.

"Fuck, Nick is coming. Are you... Bridget, where are you bleeding fro—"

Her perfect skin, always smooth when I pressed my cheek under her neck fo savour her heartbeat, now had a fault line carved along her collarbone.

Another presence on the beach silenced me. Bee was gone in a daze as she looked up at whoever was coming toward us.  Five minutes too early for the person to be Nick.

Fuck.

"Jacob? Bridget... Oh my god! Bridget!" Dean crouched down next to me in front of her. He wasn't sure what to look at or ask first. "Are you guys okay? What... who was that? Bridget... is that his bl... that's your blood?! Jacob, is that her blood?"

My breathing halted as her perfect trauma surgeon of an ex-boyfriend witnessed her dress ripped off, soaked in blood. There was no way of knowing how much he had seen or heard.

He immediately began assessing her injuries. I breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't ask questions yet. Bee flinched and recoiled from him as he got close.

"Bee," I said softly, trying to get her attention as I took her hand in my palm, "let him help you."

She flinched away from me just the same, snatching her hand back. I could see the chaos brewing behind her eyes, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Dean dropped his hands, waiting for her to calm down. "It's okay, let me call for an ambulance, first. Then, I'll—"

"No!" She finally spoke, her voice breaking as she finally looked at me. "No, no, please, don't. That will involve police and my parents. I'm fine. Take me home. Can we please just go home?"

"There is a lot of blood. I don't think—" I tried to explain.

"Dean, tell him I'm fine. Please." She didn't sound like herself. She sounded distant and fading.

"Can I take a look first?" He asked with caution. "I can't tell where you're bleeding from unless I look."

She nodded, wiring her eyes shut as he examined the cut. It was deep. How she wasn't screaming in pain was beyond me. "Does it hurt as I touch near it?"

"No, I told both of you I'm fine. I just want to go home." Daze still floated in her voice. Dean glanced back at me, shaking his head.