Page 12 of Split You Open

All I can do is quietly suffocate to death while staring at Blair in wonder and awe.

Blair breaks the silence with a half-smile. “Then I guess I need to muster up some bravery and be like Abby. Let’s do this, Rhett.”

Unable to say anything else, I simply nod and get to work. When I stitch her up, I’m quick but thorough. Thankfully, Blair only needed seven stitches.

“Okay,” I tell her as I cover her stitches with a layer of gauze and tape. “You’re done but we should probably clean you up.”

“Yeah, as much as I love him, I’m over being covered in Santi cum,” Blair says, her voice slurred as her eyelids flutter shut. “And blood. I just want to be clean.”

My full body flinch is followed by a sharp inhale through my nose. “Wait, you love Santi?”

I hate the question the minute it makes it past my lips. Or rather, how I ask it. The gruff tone doesn’t express my surprise; it just sounds like I’m pissed. Blair’s eyelids lift as she realizes what she’s said.

“You know what I mean.” She weakly rolls her eyes. “Everyone loves Santi.”

It’s a poor attempt to play off her confession, but I don’t call her on it. I don’t know how to. Not without confessing the same thing.

I’m not ready.

I’ve been fighting it for so long that admitting it now is fucking terrifying.

Clearing my throat, I get to my feet and search for a towel. I find a relatively clean one in a small alcove in the wall behind the door. Without a word, I soak it under the faucet in the sink, then take great care to wipe Blair’s face, neck, and arm down. Blair says nothing. She keeps her eyes closed the entire time, her breathing steady but shallow. It’s not until I’m done that I realize she’s unconscious.

“Shit, Blair?” I shake her shoulder. “Blair?”

She hums, the sound soft, but her eyes don’t open.

I jump to my feet and look from Blair to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

I leave the bathroom in search of the bedroom. As I suspected, it's where the second interior door leads. The bed isn’t made and the sheets are filthy. I strip it to find that the mattress looks much cleaner. After a thorough search of the room and finding no more clean sheets—I just grab a large worn, but clean, button up shirt from the dresser and head back to the bathroom.

Blair’s right where I left her.

“Blair,” I call as I bend down before her. “Let me get this on you so you’re more comfortable.”

She stirs, waking just enough to help me get Mr. Dead Man’s shirt on. When I’ve secured a few buttons on the front, I scoop Blair up into my arms. She gasps in surprise, going momentarily stiff before relaxing against my chest and falling quiet.

I frown.

For all the strength she exudes, she feels small in my arms.

Carefully, I carry Blair into the bedroom. The mattress is the best thing I can do for her now, but as I place her down onto it, I wish I had almost anything else. Even a blow up one would be better than this ancient thing.

She groans as the springs creak beneath her.

“Rhett?”

“I’m here,” I assure her. “I’ll keep an eye out for trouble, okay? Just get some rest.”

Blair lets out a sigh before going still again.

I stay with her until I’m absolutely sure she’s out again, then I slip out into the main part of the house to watch for any signs of danger.

Four

Blair

The water is cold. So, so cold.