Shattered

Hazel (e)

Hazel
30.
I was jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming shut, and sat up quickly. I jumped from bed without a second thought, my heart thrumming in my chest.

One question was circling through my mind as the silence fell back over the house: was Mr. Wright okay?

Out in the living area, no one was there, and the kitchen just as silent and untouched.

On second thought, maybe everything was fine. Mr. Wright was a tough guy who got angry at things no one understood. Whatever it was, I was certain he could handle it on his own. I wasn't supposed to care. I shouldn't care.

Mr. Wright would get over himself just like he always did. That, or he could hide his emotions well.

After last night, though, I couldn't help but think that maybe it was the second.

One moment I thought I could actually stand the guy, and the next he's something different entirely. I'd never be able to understand it.

The sound of rustling caught my attention, pulled from my thoughts and back to the reality where Mr. Wright was no more than an cold and insolent boss.

I glanced toward the stairs where the sounds were coming from, footsteps that made me draw closer just to see if everything was okay.

I thought you didn't care? Said a voice in the back of my mind.

Just as I was about to turn away, shaking my head, a loud thud resonated through the house. The sound made me jump in fright, and gasped quietly as I took to the stairs.

Mr. Wright's room was strictly forbidden, anywhere upstairs for that matter, but any thought of leaving him alone disappeared from my mind.

When I reached the top, I stopped abruptly in my tracks. Mr. Wright emerged from his room, and the breath caught in my throat when I took in the sight of him.

His green eyes darkened when he saw me, narrowing with anger and something else that I couldn't quite read entirely. The look was a perfectly clear invitation to walk the other direction, but I hardly noticed it. Instead, my eyes fell over Mr. Wright's hand that was holding the side of his head, the blood that trailed over his fingers and down his cheek.

After last night, the call with my mom, I was the one who was supposed to be angry with Mr. Wright. But, at the sight of him, it all seemed to just melt away.

What happened?

"Mr. Wright, what—?" I began to say, my voice filled with concern.

"You shouldn't be up here." He interrupted me with ice cold words.

I went to take a small step toward him, but didn't miss how he jumped slightly at the movement.

"I know," I said quietly, unable to help the sudden sense of wrongdoing I felt with that cold voice. "I heard you slam the door a-and I wanted to come check on you."

"I don't need anyone to check on me." He snapped. He took a step away from me, eyes wildly searching my face.

Despite the alarm bells ringing in my head, I took one forward, and this time, Mr. Wright didn't move, his eyes never once leaving my face as I closed the distance between us.

His anger was still there, jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything or try to stop me from reaching up to take hold of his wrist to pull it away from his face.

I took in the bloodied gash that came into view, covered with dirt and grime. Then, Mr. Wright's hand, which was littered with cuts and scratches and bleeding. Although, I couldn't help but think that some of them were older.