Saving Nicole

Chapter 11: The Soaring Heart

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO skysky612 , ONE OF THE SWEETEST, FUNNIEST PEOPLE I KNOW!

Nicole's POV
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As soon as he collapses, I loose it. 'It' being my common sense.

I rush forward, my hands gently grabbing him under his arms and helping him slowly get up. Carly has a sad smile on her beautiful, angelic face that makes it look natural. She does the same on Dallas's other side.

Carly and I both slowly start walking, his head lolled forward against his chest and his eyes half shut. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his breathing and his skin is hot to the touch. I feel the cold stickiness of his blood soaking through my shirt but ignore it. I can clean up later.

A small groan leaves his chapped lips as we walk, making my heart clench. Sparks are flying through my arm, electrifying my insides and sending my senses into a frenzy.

His mother and I ease him onto the couch and when I mention the blood, she just waves her hands and retreats upstairs to retrieve some new clothes, towels, etc.

I am unable to contain myself from staring at Dallas as he slumps against the couch, his head back and his eyes closed. He continues breathing hard and I tentatively reach out and touch his cut-infested arm. As soon as my skin comes in contact with his, he groans quietly. Tingles spark beneath my finger tips making me quickly pull away.

The wet cloth is still on the counter and I quickly stand up to grab it. A slight dizziness settles on me but I ignore it and grab the cloth anyway. When I'm sitting back in my original spot, Dallas has not shifted an inch.

Thankfully, the cloth is still wet. I grab his arm again and start cleaning the cuts on his arms as gently as I can. Dallas hisses through his teeth but doesn't move.

The dirt on his arm is thick making me have to scrub slightly in some spots. At these spots, Dallas's hands clench and he grits his teeth. His skin is raw.

Once his arms are both done, I help him sit up and do his back. His back is almost as bad as his stomach and chest, but the dirt comes off easier. Already, the wounds seem to somehow start closing. I don't know how that's possible, but I'm sure of it. Once I'm done, I rest the cloth in his hand. I don't want to hurt him anymore. His breath hitches in his throat and he drops the cloth. His mom'll have to do the rest.

As if my thoughts called her, she returns from the second floor of the mansion. She immediately picks up the fallen cloth and scrubs at his chest. He cries out as soon as it makes contact with his skin and his eyes shoot open wide. I stand absentmindedly and step away, giving the two some space. Maybe I should come back tomorrow. I try to make myself leave as I watch Dallas hiss and groan from Carly cleaning the cuts. But I can't. I can't leave. Something is making me stay. Something. That's when I realize why.

I can't leave until I know he's okay. I physically can't. My body is not obeying my brain and is instead obeying my heart.

So I just sit in a stool.

--

I hate watching this. I really hate it. I hate not being able to let them be. I hate seeing the blood trickle out of his mouth. I hate seeing it matted in his hair. I. Hate. It.

But finally, he looks dirt-free. Some cuts look like they are already almost closed. That's odd. It's good, but it's odd.

His head is back, his eyes half-closed. He lifts a shaking hand to wipe the dribble of blood dripping from his mouth. Then he swallows, a loud noise that kills the silence.

Carly sits back, wiping her delicate hands on her blood-stained jeans. I can't see an ounce of disgust from being covered in her son's blood. All I see is concern in her beautiful emerald eyes.

Dallas suddenly lifts his head, his dull eyes seeming to become sharper. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging out the matts and knots. Crimson patches still stain his scalp, but he doesn't seem to notice.

His head slowly turns to look at me. I can't look away.

"N-Nic. What d-did you see?" His voice is still hoarse, making me wince. His eyes dart down to look at his cracked knuckles and dry palms.

I upset him.

I move to sit next to him, but sit a considerable distance away on the couch. I'm careful because I don't want to hurt him. He's still cut up, even if he is fully conscious now.

"Blood. And lots of it." He grimaces at my words and I restrain myself from scooting closer to him.

"Nicole? Why don't you help Dallas upstairs?" Carly asks me, her emerald eyes glinting.

"Yeah, sure." I stand, offering him my hand to pull him up. He eyes the blood on my shirt guiltily and hoists himself up, almost toppling over before I can help support him. I wrap my arm around his back and he wraps his around my shoulders. I have to remind myself to focus on the task ahead, not the fact that his arm is around me.

His skin is boiling hot and I have to keep myself from pulling back. The Sparks don't make it any easier to focus but I somehow get him upstairs, and I notice he is shaking. Almost like shivering, but not quite. Is he cold? That doesn't make sense.

Together, we limp to the stairs, my legs straining to keep both of us up, his steps loud and sloppy. The air vents blow cool air on us, but it doesn't keep the salty perspiration off my forehead. His labored breathing sounds as if he was cut open by chainsaws, but he doesn't complain.

I feel blood smear on the back of my neck from his cuts, but ignore the urge to cringe. With a grunt, we reach the top stair.

The walls of the hallway feel as if they're closing in on us, locking us both in a tiny space and we have a sudden renewal of energy. The wood underfoot feels as if it's trying to grab at us, but we hurry to his room where we both fall into a beanbag.

My legs and arms ache and I feel as if I'M the one who was hurt. Checking my arms, I see there's nothing.

Dallas closes his eyes, his face slack from exhaustion and I quietly stand up. Now that I know he's okay, I should let him be alone. Not making a sound, I walk to the door, but he startles me.

"Where are you going, Nic?" His breath on the back of my neck startles me, making me quickly turn around to come face to face with Dallas.

He's leaning against the door, most of his scrapes already gone as if they didn't exist. Not even a scar! His eyes are still cloudy, making me frown.

"You should be sitting down." I tell him, stubbornly refusing to answer the question. His hair is still matted and I refuse the urge to tell him. Blood is streaked down on his face, making it look like he was crying crimson tears. This time, I do reach out and touch them. "You need to wash your face."

"Why are you leaving?" he asks again, completely ignoring my advice. I roll my eyes.

"You need to get better and focus on that. So I'm going home. Besides, I'm tired." This time it's him who frowns, causing me to realize I haven't seen him smile all day. I have to make him smile. I need to make him smile. The desire overwhelms me, confusing me.

A new purpose settles in my head and I square my shoulders, tilting my head to look up at him.

"But I think I'll stay for a little bit." He smiles.

His smile makes my heart soar.