Stitches For Your Heart

Knives, Strangers, and Sunset Orange

“Hello-o. Anyone home?” A voice in a pitch between a man and a woman’s said. It was familiar, so I figured it was Auntie Sammie or mom coming home early from her nine to five shift at work.

“Auntie, is that you?” I spoke questioningly as I stepped out of the shower with caution. There was no answer so I slipped on my sunset orange bath robe that was hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and decided to brave it out and see who was here. I opened the bathroom door and it creaked as I slipped out of the small opening I made between the doorjamb and the door itself. I tried to walk and tiptoe quietly but every few steps I let out a soft wince from the pain of the robe rubbing against the cuts and bruises that were scattered along my back and shoulders. I tried to take silent deep breaths and continued the trek down the hallway that at the end could hold my ultimate downfall- and the man that attempted to murder me.

                I finally reached the end of the hallway and I saw a strange male figure standing there with his back turned away from me. He had curly gray hair and was wearing an army patterned shirt and knit shorts. He didn't look exactly like a murderer, but I guess anything is possible. He was rummaging through the refridgerator taking out cheese, milk, and fruit. Awkward to be eating when he could be about to kill me. As he rummaged through the refridgeration my brain finally had the epiphany that now was the perfect moment to have remembered my old softball bat in my bedroom closet. I contemplated running back for it but before I could decide the man started to turn around.

“Hey, cutie pie! Did I startle you?” The figure who I now figured out was my grandfather said.

“Nawh, gramps… Okay, just a little bit,” I answered Grandfather Richard. I sighed in relief knowing that it was only him.

“You okay?” His deep blue eyes looked questioningly into mine. He looked at my face for any sign of emotion or distress. I showed no weakness. He shrugged and I walked into the dining room to see if my mom had left a note on the table. I heard the kitchen cabinet open and figured grandpa was making himself a snack. I went back to concentrating on the note and sure enough, there was a note in her half-cursive half-print scrawl. It stated that she would be home around five and that she would bring home a pizza, and to call her if I had any topping requests. I immediately looked down at my aqua blue heart shaped watch. 4:30. Damn. You’d think that she would have sent the old man here sooner. I guess she wanted to check and make sure I was still alive. Now that I think about it, she could have called. I contemplated whether she could have, with her demanding job as a surgeon at Saint Helen's Hospital. She gets a lunch break. She could have called then instead of drinking with all of her surgeon buddies at the bar across the street to cope with all of the code blues in the hospital. I don’t know how she could leave me home alone in the first place after what had happened.

                Here I am sitting home with my grandfather while she gets boozed up and has a jolly old time. Does she care at all? I contemplated as I stared at the knife that was sitting next to me. I slid my finger gingerly along the end that wasn’t sharp as I played the scenario of blood rushing down my arm. I decided that it wasn’t worth it right now with gramps here. No one has noticed before, and they sure in hell won’t notice now. They’ll check your arms but not your thig-

“GRACIIIIIIIIE SAVANNAH GORDON. DO YOU HEAR ME. GET YOUR TUSH IN HERE. NOOOOOW!” I heard my grandfather screaming at the top of his lungs.

What else could possibly be going wrong now?