f o u r t e e n

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I let out a muffled scream, the scream concealed between my teeth.

Peter rushed to my side, afraid.  "What's going on?" 

"S-Sam," I stuttered.

Peter's eyes grew in realization.

"I'll call the ambulance," Peter said, whipping out his cellphone.

"No, no," I grasped Peter's hand.  "Don't." 

Peter looked at me in confusion.  "What?  He's hurt, Charlotte!"

"Yea, but these are torture wounds.  Like mine."  I whispered, taking a closer look at Sam.

His eye was black, his face cut, sweaty and bruised.  His clothes were ripped, his shirt held together by a thread.  He was barely conscious, whispering words of nothing.

"Then let's call the hospital!"  Peter told me, his eyes hovering on Sam.

"No, take him someplace else," I begged.

He looked like he wanted to call, but I knew he would listen to me.

"He's not going to do well there.  I've- I've known him for a pretty long time.  Peter, he was my best friend before my parents died," I admitted.

Surprise erupted on Peter's face.  

"Take his legs," Peter said gruffly, looping his arms around Sam's torso.

He was obviously a little angry.

Or maybe jealous?

Just maybe.

I hooked Sam's legs into my arms, following Peter to his car.

Sam weighed almost nothing.

Peter laid him in the backseat of his car, motioning me to get into the car.  I heard him load the bicycle in the back of his car.

Peter pressed on the gas, and the car jerked forward.

I shivered from the cold and from the fright.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam's not dead.

He's not.

He's not dead.

Ok, but why did they say he was dead?

Sam's alive.  

He's alive.  Like alive, alive.

I turned in my seat to take a look at Sam.

Sam fell silent from his small mutterings.  

"I think he's unconscious."  I whispered.

Peter stopped at a small building.

"Ok, there's a small room up there, I used to room with Eli.  Eli's on vacation right now, so he's not there.  I think we have a first aid kit up there," Peter said, lifting Sam.

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