Calmly, Carefully, Completely(110)

I sit back and scrub the back of my head with my hand.

“I told you to be careful with her,” Phil reminds me.

“I have been,” I say. “Very careful.”

“He’s pretty pissed,” he tells me. I am sure of that already.

“I love her like crazy, Phil,” I say.

His thumb taps on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t say anything else. When we get to hospital, they let us into the room when Phil flashes his identification. He walks in and I see Tic Tac, no Edward, in bed. He has tubes and wires sticking from his body, and he looks so frail. There’s a young lady in a chair beside him holding his hand, and I can’t help but think this must be his sister. She hops to her feet when we come into the room.

“I never should have told him,” she says. “I never should have told him, and then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Phil hands her a tissue, and I jam my hands in my pockets. I’m not sure what to do with them. “Hello,” I say when she stares at me.

“You must be Pete,” she says. She smiles. “Edward told me all about you.”

“What happened?” I ask, nodding toward the bed.

Her eyebrows arch with feigned amusement. “He gave up his life for me. Again. He did it before when he went to the detention center, and he did it again today.”

Phil turns her with a hand on her shoulder. “I could use some coffee,” he says. “Walk with me?”

I think she knows that I want to talk with Edward. She nods and looks longingly toward the bed. “Please make him fight,” she whispers. “Don’t let him give up.”

She leaves the room with Phil, and I go sit in the chair where she was sitting. I nibble absently on my fingernail, wondering if I should wake him. “I’m so pretty that you can’t catch your breath, right?” he asks, his voice quiet. I didn’t even know he was awake. “Deep breaths, man,” he says. “You can push through it.”

“How are you?” I ask. I force some joviality into my voice. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” He groans as he pushes himself up in the bed. “They say I’ll live.” His gaze roams around the room, and I wonder if he’s thinking about the man he killed.

“I’m glad,” I say. I don’t know how to talk to this kid. I really don’t. I’m floundering here. “Want to tell me what happened?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Why don’t you do it anyway?” I ask.

“He’s dead, right?” he asks. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he swipes it away.

“Yeah.”

“Some people need killing,” he says. He doesn’t crack a smile, and his voice breaks. He’s hurting, and I can tell.

“Did he need killing?” I ask.

“He was hurting my sister,” he says. “I knew it the minute I walked into the room.” He squeezes the bed rail until his knuckles turn white. “She didn’t even have to tell me. I could see it in her eyes. Just like before.”

“There was a knife?” I ask. I try to remember everything he’s telling me, and I wonder if I should be writing it all down.

His gaze snaps to mine. “It wasn’t mine,” he says. “It was his. He came at me with it, and I couldn’t stop him.” He lays a hand over his stomach. “He jabbed me with it. I pulled it out, and he jumped me and fell on it.” He’s openly sobbing now. “I swear to God that I didn’t want to kill him.”