A Proscriptive Relationship

by Jordan Lynde

  “Oh, they police are coming,” Lance assured Shawn with a tough-guy voice. “But we were already five minutes away when we called them.” When Mr. Heywood gave him an annoyed look, he added, “What? There’s bad cell service out this way.”

  I stared at Lance in alarm. What was he doing here? Of all the people in the world to bring here, Jeremy brought Lance? Who had been attacked by Shawn before? Who had probably never held a gun before in his life? When Lance noticed I was staring at him, he sent me a small grin.

  “Now,” Jeremy started in an authoritative tone. “Move away from Holly and Chris, or we’ll shoot.”

  Immediately the men surrounding us moved backwards, putting up their hands in surrender. Shawn swore again, but also took a few steps away from us. Mr. Heywood gently pushed me off him, climbing to his feet. He then pulled me to my feet, holding me up until I regained my balance. I smoothed out my shirt, wincing as my hand brushed my now bruised side.

  Mr. Heywood pulled me to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me hard. “Holly, don’t ever try to protect me again, okay? I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt again because of me.”

  I frowned slightly. “But you were getting hurt because of me . . .”

  “I can handle it though,” Mr. Heywood responded, pulling me away so he could grin at me. “You, on the other hand, are a little more fragile.”

  I blushed slightly. Mr. Heywood sighed lightly. “Your blush is so calming, Holly.”

  I blushed darker. “What?”

  Shawn cleared his throat loudly. “Aren’t you two cute?”

  “I hope you’re ready to go back to jail,” Mr. Heywood said, turning to smirk at Shawn. “Quite the change of events, huh?”

  Shawn glared at him. “I should have known you would rely on others to help.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Mr. Heywood responded with a shrug. “Oh wait. You don’t have friends. You have followers. And now your followers are useless.”

  Shawn rolled his eyes. “This isn’t over yet.”

  “Yes, it is,” Mr. Heywood responded with an air of finality.

  “Chris!” Jeremy called to Mr. Heywood, his gun still on Shawn. “Do you have anything we can tie these guys up with?”

  Mr. Heywood nodded. “Yeah, I have some rope.”

  “Where?”

  “Holly, in the trunk of my car is some rope,” Mr. Heywood told me, nodding towards it.

  I nodded, shakily taking a few steps towards his car before bursting into a full out sprint. When I reached the car I quickly popped the trunk, grabbing the rope that was piled up at the bottom of it. I turned back to where Mr. Heywood was, trying to wind the rope up so I wouldn’t trip on it. Mr. Heywood was by Jeremy now, who still had his gun pointed towards Shawn. Lance had moved over to where the two other men I didn’t know were, and together they were keeping an eye on the rest of Shawn’s followers. My eyes swept around for Justin, and I found him passed out on the ground a few feet away from me. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When had that happened?

  “Holly! The rope!” Jeremy called back to me. “You’re so slow!”

  “I’m coming!” I responded, tossing it over my shoulder and marching towards them. “Jeez! I don’t want it to be tang . . .”

  I trailed off, feeling a hand enclose on my upper arm, pulling me to a stop. My eyes widened in surprise, and I turned my head to see Mikey behind me. He sent me a hard look.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Mikey commented in a low voice. “But now I have no choice.”

  Something sharp entered my field of vision as Mikey brought his arm around me. My breath caught in my throat when I felt smooth, cool metal press against my throat. I went rigid, holding my breath tightly.

  “All of you, drop your guns or she gets it,” Mikey threatened.

  All four men with guns exchanged concerned looks. I could tell the sight of me being held hostage must have been shocking. Lance lowered his gun a fraction of an inch.

  “Don’t drop them!” I screamed at him.

  “But Holly—”

  “Don’t!”

  “I advise they do,” Mikey said loudly.

  “Drop your guns,” Mr. Heywood ordered, turning to Jeremy.

  I glared at him in frustration. “No! Don’t do it!”

  Jeremy looked between Mr. Heywood and me for a moment, looking torn between us. He lowered his hand the slightest bit like Lance had, and I heaved a frustrated groan.

  “Time’s up,” Mikey declared.

  An odd sensation ran through my stomach. Bewildered, I looked down and saw the handle of a knife protruding from my midriff. I dropped the rope, raising my shaky hands up to grasp the handle. I touched it gently and a scream tore through my throat as a horrible, burning sensation suddenly spread through my body. I screamed again, falling to my knees, causing the knife to shift inside me. More shrieks came from my mouth as I looked up at Mikey in terror. He still had another knife in his other hand.

  “Holly!” a panicked voice I recognized as Lance’s shouted. “Holly! Oh my god! Stop him!”

  Mikey’s eyes never left my face. He brought down the knife. Before it could come in contact with my skin, a loud crack sounded. Mikey’s eyes shot open and he stumbled backwards, dropping the second knife. He dropped to the ground with a loud shout of pain.

  I slowly turned my head towards the group, tears blurring my vision. My gut felt like it was on fire. My vision swayed for a moment, but when I focused I noticed Mr. Heywood was running towards me. Everyone else was just looking at me with a horrified expression. My eyes landed on Shawn and another scream escaped me—this time due to panic.

  “Mr. Heywood!” I shrieked in terror.

  With all the attention on me, Shawn had somehow managed to pull out a gun, and he was now pointing it at Mr. Heywood. Panicking, I looked all around for something to help with. Justin’s body was just a few inches away from me. Immediately I spotted the gun attached to his belt. I began to reach for it. The tension on my stomach caused a great deal of pain, but I continued anyway. My hand closed around the handle and I yanked it back, fumbling with it until my finger was on the trigger. I turned back to Mr. Heywood, who was only a few feet away from me now.

  “Holly, what are you doing?” he started, coming to a stop a few feet away from me.

  “Don’t stop!” I screamed at him, seeing Shawn aim his gun. I aimed mine too, my quavering hand making it difficult to fix my aim on him.

  “Why not—”

  There was a slight movement from Shawn’s hand. My heart jumped into my chest when I realized he was about to shoot Mr. Heywood. Closing my eyes tightly, I promptly squeezed the trigger of my gun. A sharp bang rang in my ears, and my hand flew back from the force. I dropped the gun, gasping in surprise. When I finally opened my eyes again, Shawn was on the ground, shouting in pain.

  “Chris!” Jeremy shouted in panic.

  My eyes snapped up to Mr. Heywood, who was staring forwards in surprise. His gaze dropped to his side, and my eyes followed. A small groan escaped my lips when I realized he was covered in blood. Mr. Heywood furrowed his eyebrows, taking a few steps towards me. He dropped to the ground when he was next to me, putting a hand on his side.

  “Mr. Heywood,” I started in a hoarse whisper. “Shawn . . . Shawn shot you.”

  “I’m fine,” he told me, his jaw clenched. “Lance, call an ambulance.”

  “I already did,” Lance responded in a terrified voice. “Are you okay, Heywood?”

  Mr. Heywood took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m fine. Holly, I need to put pressure on your wound.”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, leaning back, and taking off his shirt.

  I tried to prepare myself for the pain. As soon as Mr. Heywood’s hands touched my midriff the burning sensation returned and a gasp of pain left my lips. I tried to push him away, but he kept his hands pressed to my wound. I twisted uncomfortably, groa
ning as the knife inside me twisted along with me.

  “Take the knife out,” I begged.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can!”

  “If I do you might bleed to death!”

  “But Mr. Heywood,” I panted, closing my eyes, “it hurts!”

  “I know,” he responded, sounding pained.

  “Help me,” I begged, not knowing what else to say.

  “We have to stop the bleeding,” he told me in a tight voice. “Hold on.”

  I groaned in pain when I felt the pressure against my midriff increase. “Stop! That hurts!

  “I have to, Holly.”

  “No! Stop!”

  “Holly, please!” he nearly shouted. “I have to!”

  My eyes opened as I saw him staring down at me, his expression filled with pain. His eyes were glazed over as he pressed his hands into my stomach, trying to stop the blood flow. My eyes watered as I took in his expression.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, dropping his head. “I’m sorry, Holly. I have to do this.”

  “Am I going to die?” I asked, closing my eyes again.

  “You’re not going to die,” he told me in a hard tone. “Just hold on a few more minutes, the ambulance will be here.”

  “What about the police?”

  “They’ll be here too.”

  “Will they take you?”

  He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re hurt though,” I pointed out, my heart rate increasing again. “They won’t take you to jail if you’re hurt will they?”

  “No, they won’t,” he assured me. “Holly, calm down.”

  I reached up my hand towards the sound of his voice. After a moment I felt a hand enclose mine. Tears formed behind my closed eyes again as I gripped onto his hand as tightly as I could.

  “Don’t leave,” I murmured.

  “I’m not going to,” he responded in a quiet voice. “I’ll always be here, Holly. I love you.”

  I winced as he shifted the pressure on my midriff. “I love you too.”

  The sounds of sirens in the distance suddenly filled my hearing. Mr. Heywood let out a deep sigh of relief. I relaxed too, suddenly feeling sleepy. I let go of his hand, dropping mine to the ground, too tired to hold my arm up anymore.

  “Holly?”

  “Mm?”

  “Holly, stay awake,” he ordered me. “Come on, open your eyes.”

  I shook my head. “I’m tired.”

  “Holly, you need to stay awake.”

  “No.”

  He gently shook my shoulder. “Come on, Holly. Open your eyes.”

  “Stop it,” I muttered, turning my head to the side.

  “Holly!” he said loudly. “Just stay awake, okay?”

  I mumbled something incoherent, not fully aware of what I was saying. Weariness washed over me, but I tried to fight it off. I wanted to make sure Mr. Heywood would be okay. It was a tough feat. He said something to me, but it sounded garbled with the noise of sirens in the background. I drifted in and out of unconsciousness, struggling to open my eyes again. Finally I gave up, just as I felt the pressure on my stomach disappear. All noises were shut out as I drifted off into complete darkness.

  LESSON forty-six

  Noises and light. A bright, constant light. The noises were far off and sluggish. I attempted to focus on them, but no matter how hard I tried, they were still incoherent and garbled. An odd, unfamiliar scent was filling my nose. I struggled to move, but my body felt liked it weighed a thousand pounds. The more I tried lift my hand, the heavier I felt.

  There was more pressure on my arm—at least I thought it was my arm. In my state, I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t even know where I was. Or why I couldn’t make out the noises I was hearing. Or where the blinding light that was starting to get on my nerves was coming from.

  I struggled to force my eyes open. For all I knew, I could have been kidnapped again. Maybe something had gone wrong and Shawn had somehow gotten away again. The thought sent alarm through me. With new resolve, I finally managed to force my eyes open, only to close them again when an even more glaring light than the first blinded me.

  After blinking a few times to get my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to take in my surroundings. White walls, white curtains, white ceiling . . . I turned my head to the side and my gaze landed on a large machine producing a beeping noise. A startled gasp escaped my lips when I realized I was in a hospital. Relief then washed over me. I was safe.

  My gaze dropped down to my arm, where an IV was attached to my wrist. Making a face, I quickly turned away from it. Needles weren’t my thing. My eyes widened when I took in my other arm. There were no needles, but something else instead—or should I say someone else. Mr. Heywood was dead asleep on my arm, his head resting against my hip.

  I tried to sit up, but found it took way too much strength. Giving up, I fell back down the inch I had managed to rise. A scratchy groan escaped my lips as my landing sent my head pounding. Why was I so tired? I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, trying to remember what happened. Mikey had stabbed me, and then I shot Shawn, and then what . . .? Did I pass out?

  The arm Mr. Heywood was sleeping on started to tingle uncomfortably. After a moment it turned into a painful prickle, like needles being poked into my skin. I slowly clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to wake up my arm. It wasn’t working. He needed to move.

  “Mr. Heywood?” I blinked in surprise as my voice came out in a scratchy whisper. I cleared my throat, trying again. “Chris?”

  He stirred slightly, turning his head to the side. “Mm,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes shut.

  “My arm’s asleep . . . Could you move?”

  “In a minute, Holly,” he responded, nestling his head more comfortably into my arm. After another moment his eyes shot open, gazing straight into mine. He sat up quickly, part of his hair matted to his face. “Holly?”

  I chuckled at his expression and the hair pressed against his face. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

  “Holly,” he repeated in a breathy voice, his expression turning to relief. He turned to the side, hitting something on the machine next to me before quickly moving forwards in his seat, throwing his arms around me, and bringing his body closer to mine. He rested his head against my shoulder, rubbing it against it slowly. “Thank god . . . thank god.”

  Confused, I stared down at him. “What?”

  He suddenly pulled back away from me, bringing his face in front of mine. “Holly,” he breathed again, resting his forehead against mine.

  “Chris.”

  Without warning he pressed his lips against mine very gently, as if they were made of fragile glass. He his head, placing kisses across my jaw line, all the way up to my ear. I let out a shaky breath, my body tingling at the sensations. He kissed back down my jaw again, landing at my lips, this time a little more roughly. After a moment he pulled away, planting one last kiss on my forehead before dropping his head back on my shoulder.

  His arms tightened around me, making my arms squish together painfully. I tried to break free from his grasp, but in my feeble state I could barely move my head. It took a moment for me to realize Mr. Heywood’s shoulders were shaking . . . and he wasn’t laughing.

  “Mr. . . . Chris, what’s wrong?” I asked slowly, my chest tightening as a sense of dread washed over me. “What? Is it Lance? Or Jeremy? What happened?” I cried, feeling panicky. “Are they hurt?”

  He finally pulled away from me, keeping his head down. “No, they’re fine,” he told me in a husky voice.

  My shoulders sagged in relief. “Then what’s the matter?”

  “I love you, Holly,” he murmured into my shoulder. “So much.”

  “I love you too,” I responded, growing more and more confused.

  His body suddenly became tense. “I thought I lost you.”

  “Lost me?”

  He raised his head, his eyes piercing into mine. My heart skipped a beat when I realiz
ed they were red—either from lack of sleep or from crying. He let out a deep sigh, bringing one of his hands up to my face and gently stroking my cheek. There was a slight tremor to his hand.

  “I’ve never been so terrified in my life,” he started, setting his jaw. “I thought you were going to die, Holly.”

  “Die?” I parroted, my mouth going dry.

  His face tightened, a look of pain crossing it. “The knife missed your vital organs, but you lost so much blood, so they gave you a transfusion, but you were still in critical condition, and you slipped into a coma—”

  “Coma?” I repeated incredulously, panic creeping up on me once again. “A coma?”

  He nodded, shaking his head. “The doctors gave no explanation. I thought you wouldn’t wake up though. I thought that I had somehow managed to get you killed, even though I tried my best to protect you. I thought—”

  “I’m okay,” I started, cutting him off. “Chris, I’m okay.”

  He snapped his mouth shut, looking at me with smoldering eyes. Using all the strength I had, I raised my hand up to his cheek, resting it against him. “I’m okay,” I repeated, feeling my eyes water. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, stupid,” he responded, shutting his eyes and grabbing my hand, pressing it more securely to his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But I worried you—”

  He shook his head slightly. “I love worrying about you, Holly. I just wish I didn’t have to do it so much.”

  “You won’t have to anymore right?”

  He stayed silent. Panic started welling up within me. “How long have I been out? Is Lance okay? What about Jeremy? And where’s Shawn?”

  He put his hand over my mouth, effectively silencing me. “Holly, you need to calm down. Lance is fine. Jeremy is fine. Shawn’s in jail.”

  “Shawn’s in jail?” I repeated when Mr. Heywood pulled his hand away.

  Mr. Heywood nodded. “The police got him.”

  It took a moment for the news to sink in. Shawn was finally captured. “And what about you?” I asked, growing nervous again.

  He smiled slightly. “Since I was a good boy and quote, unquote saved you, I’m off the hook.”