TITLE: Blood Heir
More tears slide down my face. “Just shoot me!” I yell out, trying to yank my hand away.
“Oh Irena.” His eyes travel down to look at my wounded hand. “I’ll get you cleaned up. Let’s go sit down.” He is still holding my wrist as he leads me to a small desk with a chair next to the bed. I stare at his face. It is cleanly shaven and shiny. A stray string of chocolate brown hair brushes his nose. He sits me down at the chair.
I cannot move nor say anything because of the overwhelming grief that sweeps through my body. It paralyzes me, and when I look at my hands, I see them shaking.
He grabs a first aid kit from under the bed, and kneels down on the floor in front of me.
All I can whisper is, “Why are you helping me? … Who are you?”
A tweezer is gripped between his fingers and he reaches for my hand. “I’m helping you because of who you are.” Fiery pain spreads through my hand and arm as he pulls out the glass. “And my name is Derek.”
My eyes are squished close and I refuse to look down at the wound. I can feel the glass being pulled out. His hands are rough like those of someone who is a carpenter, and the tweezers are none too gentle.
Soon I feel my hand being bound in a bandage. I open my eyes and look down. The pieces of mirror and my blood are on a sheet of newspaper. My hand is clean and neatly wrapped. The pain still throbs, but not as much.