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She was turned to look back at me, but her eyes were unfocused, the whites and the skin around them bright red.
“You can put the knife down, love,” I said, eyeing the man below her, his shirt saturated with blood, almost a dozen holes in his shirt from her knife. He was unmoving. No rise and fall of his chest. “He’s dead,” I told her.
I watched as her mouth fell open, looking around me, but not quite at me.
“Dav?”
“Yeah, Cin. It’s me,” I said, pushing the door closed, and locking it.
This was a crime scene now.
No one needed to see inside.
Her shoulders slumped, and she suddenly flung the knife like it had burned her as she scurried off of the man, scooting backward until her back slammed into the kitchen cabinets.
“What happened?” I asked, looking between Cinna, who seemed like she was having a panic attack, gulping for air, and the kid on the couch.
“He attacked her,” the kid said. “She got pepper sprayed.”
“Fuck. Okay,” I said rushing toward her, going into the cabinets until I found a cup, then filled it with water, then squatted down in front of Cinna. “I’m gonna rinse the spray off,” I told her, tilting her chin up. “Hold your breath for me,” I demanded, but started pouring before I knew if she was actually following instructions or not.
The effects would wear off in a half an hour or so, regardless of if you treated it, but it burned like a mother fucker the whole time. And you had more of a chance of blisters and breathing problems if you didn’t rinse the shit away.
The common consensus was to use milk, but the science said water was the best bet. Which was a fuck of a lot less messy.
“It’ll stop stinging in a minute,” I assured her, getting more water, and pouring, soaking through her shirt, getting her hair drenched.
Another three or four cups, and she was breathing normally again, blinking at me like she was starting to see more.
“Any better?”
“I can see better,” she agreed as I reached out to wipe my hands across her cheeks. “Still hurts.”
“I’ll get more—“ I started.
“No,” she cut me off. “I feel like I’ve been waterboarded,” she added, making my lips curve up. “Joel,” she said, eyes widening.
“He’s sitting on the couch,” I said, glancing over at the kid. “You okay?” I asked, seeing her breath start to speed up.
“I… can’t…” she panted, breathing faster.
“It’s the pepper spray,” I said, but even I wasn’t convinced about that. She’d been breathing alright even before I’d rinsed her off.
And she was getting more frantic by the second.
This almost seemed like, well, a panic attack.
“I can’t…” she said, suddenly flying up onto her feet, and running across her apartment, the door slamming as she closed herself in.
“You alright, kid?” I asked, turning to look at him, finding his gaze on the body.
“I… yeah.”
“Your throat…”
“Just a scratch,” he said, wiping at it with his sleeve.
“If I go see if she’s okay, are you going to stay there?” I asked.
