Held [Completed]

Seven.

 Seven.

Watching Jake remain stagnant on the kitchen floor takes me back to the lake where my brother drowned. I remember the day he was pulled from the murky water. His eyes shut tight while his small body soaked and covered with small twigs. I was hiding behind my mom's leg when they pulled him out. I remember seeing her knees buckle as she crumpled to the ground; distraught with grief after seeing her deceased child.

And just like my brother, Jake lies immobile. Not moving, not breathing and not living. His lifeless body brings back so many horrible memories that I've tried to forget. I've tried so hard to keep them from resurfacing but now they're here; every horrofic sight, every ear piercing scream, and every bitter feeling I felt the day my brother died is back. 

The longer I watch my horrific reality unfold the more I wish I could look away. The more I wish it would all go away. But unfortunately for me I can't stop staring, and the awful memories of this entire ordeal will never go away. 

"Come on, come on." Rich chants.

With my hands squeezed tightly, I watch as he pumps air into Jake's lungs. His once vibrant tanned skin is now drained of all color while his sharp green eyes continue to stay shut. Not even a hint of alertness. The blood from his wounds flow out of him like a tube of ointment. Large clumps of red stain the floor around him, even staining Rich's jeans.

Before I can blink twice, Rich moves from his mouth to his chest. He starts quick chest compressions while I continue to internally panic; too afraid to let my troubled emotions show. Troubled not because of Jake's unfortunate situation, but because I'm only thinking of myself. The longer I stand here, the less I'm helping. 

But even when I really ask myself if I should help, I end up feeling worse because my reply is a strict no. I stop myself from helping because I'm  hoping Jake would just wake up; that these tragic events would turn in my favor, but oh how wrong I am. Instead, I'm faced with a boy who is nearly dead and an unremorseful mind telling me not to offer my assistance.

With his hands over Jake's chest he pushes harder. All of this effort and he still isn't showing any signs of vitality. 

"Move." I walk over to an out of breath Rich. He gives me one quick skeptical glance before scooting over.

This is it. I kneel before Jake, positioning myself to revive him. Thank God for my mom making me attend CPR classes after my brother's death. I guess they're about to pay off.

My eyes remain closed as I descend to his parted full lips. I'm about to press my lips to his when I hear and feel coughing. Opening my eyes, I see him coughing up blood so I scoot back to give him some air.

"Nice job Livie." Rich pats me on the back while we wait for  him to finish wheezing.

After I give him water, Rich carried him to the sofa. I was told to dress his wounds so that's what I'm doing now.

"Argh!" He hollers when I apply the aseptic to his deepest wound. It's the length of a pencil and the width of a finger; stretching from his upper abdomen to his lower waist. 

"Sorry." I mutter while applying light pressure to another wound.

"What did he mean?" He asks after a few moments of awkward silence. This is the first he's spoken since I've been tending to his injuries. His grass colored eyes stare at the wall behind me while I patch him up. He has four more stab wounds while his right eye is swollen shut.

"Livie, what does he mean?" His voice cracks so he coughs to clear his throat.

"I don't know." I shrug while finishing up the last bandage. I know his curious gaze will pierce my soul until I talk so instead of looking at him my eyes stay focused on my task at hand.