by Chloe Smith
Chapter Seven
Oh, shit! was the only thought that ran through Tristan's mind as he looked at the motionless form on the ground. In any other case, Tristan would have thought Scarlett looked hot. She was wearing a pretty tight T-shirt with the Plain White T's on it and short, black, cotton, Sophie shorts. But right now was not the time to be looking at a girl's body. Right now was time to take action, but Tristan couldn't make his feet move any farther. He was stuck to the spot with shock. Tristan stood immobile, glued to the spot with fright, as he looked down at Scarlett who was completely unmoving on the floor. Other than the occasional movement of her chest, Tristan could see nothing that would notify him that she was okay. She wasn't moving. Her eyes were still. Only her slow breathing made Tristan's chest loosen just a little bit with relief. But then he spotted the blood pooling around her head and became frantic again.
What do I do? What the hell do I do? Tristan thought frantically. He knew the fall shouldn't have killed Scarlett, but it had probably injured her. Worst case scenario was that she would have amnesia. Best case scenario was that she would walk out of this with only the small cut on her forehead to remind her that this had happened.
Finally his feet began to move as if not by his own accord. He quickly walked up to Scarlett's body and bent down to examine the damage. She had lost some blood, but not too much. He had to do something. But what was he supposed to do? He needed to slow the blood that she was losing. He needed to put pressure on it. The cut wasn't too deep. He hadn't thrown the rock hard enough to cause any serious damage. He had only thrown the pebble lightly mainly because he hadn't wanted to break the window. He still couldn't believe that he had actually hit her in the first place. What had he been thinking again when he had decided to throw rocks at her window again? When had he decided to play Romeo in a super clichéd reenactment of 'Romeo and Juliet'?
He knelt down beside her limp form and did the first thing he could think of. He tore his shirt off and bundled it up around his hand so that he could apply pressure. He felt goose bumps spread over his arms as the cold air conditioned room affected his body. And suddenly he felt very Jacob Black-ish in the 'Twilight Saga's: New Moon.' Tristan felt blush creep onto his face for even knowing the name of one of the characters from that silly movie.
He continued to press his ruined shirt to her head until he was sure that the blood had stopped. Then he slowly and carefully removed his shirt from her head and threw it to the side. The cut looked bad, not horrible, but still bad, nonetheless.
He needed to clean the cut before it got infected or anything. He remembered that from first aid training when he first became a life guard for a summer job a couple of years ago. Okay, first thing was first, find the bathroom. Tristan quickly left Scarlett lying on the floor to find the nearest bathroom that was two doors down from Scarlett's room. He turned the light on and grabbed a washcloth from the handle on the wall by the sink. He turned on the water from the sink and made sure that it was warm before he stuck the clean washcloth under it and soaked it. After he wrung it out to make it slightly damp, he hurriedly returned to Scarlett's room and began wiping away the dry blood from her head.
He stroked her face and the back of her neck gently with the warm washcloth. And he dabbed around the red cut very carefully until he was sure that all of the dirt from garden and blood from the cut were gone.
He suddenly felt the air conditioning kick in again and was too cold to stand it. So, he quickly found his shirt that he had thrown on the ground and replaced it on his body. There was some blood on the front of the shirt from where he had stopped the bleeding on Scarlett's head, but he could live with it because it was so damn cold in this house.
Just then he heard Scarlett moan. Tristan took a deep breath and returned to her side. And he repeated to himself: worst case scenario was that Scarlett would have amnesia; best case scenario was that she would walk out of this with only a small, tiny scratch. And even better case scenario was that she would walk out of this with only a scratch and not be mad at Tristan for all of the trouble he had caused. But he wasn't too sure if that was going to happen. He didn't even know how he was going to break it to her that he had broken the glass pane on the front door to get into the house to rescue her.
He watched her closely as her eyes fluttered open and a look of confusion crossed her face as her hand came up to lightly touch the spot where the rock had hit her. She winced as the pain shot through her head and immediately took her hand back. Tristan didn't say anything as she slowly sat up, leaning back on her elbows. She looked around her room as if she didn't know how she had gotten there. Tristan remembered the worst case scenario: amnesia. She looked like she could be a patient of amnesia, but then her eyes met Tristan's and her eyebrows furrowed.
"What the hell happened?" She didn't say it in any harsh tone; she merely spoke in a confused voice. "And why does my head hurt?"
"You might need some ice," Tristan suggested.
"What are you doing here?" Scarlett asked as she narrowed her eyes.
"Let's get some ice first," Tristan said, extending his hand to help her up.
She looked at it with narrowed eyes and then stood up without using his hand.
"All right, then," Tristan said as he followed Scarlett slowly out of her room. She wobbled a little, and Tristan, from instinct, stuck his hands out to catch her, but she swatted them away like they were annoying flies and leaned against the wall for support as she continued to walk. They made it down the stairs with only two stumbles from Scarlett. Finally they entered the kitchen, and Scarlett went to get some ice from the freezer, but Tristan stopped her.
"Sit on the counter. I'll get the ice."
Scarlett let out a defeated sigh and did as he told her. There wasn't a table or anything in the kitchen, so Scarlett was forced to hop up on the counter.
She watched as Tristan got the ice from the freezer and asked, "So, what the hell happened? What are you doing here?"
"Um…what do you remember?" Tristan asked. He didn't really want to answer any of her questions.
"I remember…" Scarlett started out, and her brows furrowed again as she tried to rethink her actions from earlier in the night, and then she winced as the action caused her head to hurt. "I remember watching a movie, and then hearing something at my window. And I opened my window, and then…nothing. What happened?" she asked again.
"Well…" Tristan paused as he walked up to her to place the ice on her forehead, "A rock hit you in the head, and you fell backwards and hit your head on the bed. Well, actually, I'm assuming you hit your head on your bed because there's a little bit of blood on the bed, but other than that I think everything is all right."
"All right!" Scarlett screeched and shoved Tristan's hand away from her. "All right? Are you kidding me? You…you hit me in the head with a rock! What the hell are you even doing here?" she yelled, trying to stand up, but Tristan pushed her back down into a sitting position on the counter and reposition the ice on her head.
"You should sit. I don't know if you're ready to stand just yet."
"Are you going to answer any of my questions?" Scarlett yelled at Tristan.
"As soon as you stop yelling and calm down, I'll answer your questions," Tristan reasoned.
Scarlett clenched her teeth at Tristan and narrowed her green eyes, but listened to him. She took a few calming, deep breaths and then finally asked again, "What are you doing here?" And then her eyes traveled down to his drench shirt and widened, "And why are you bleeding? Are you okay?" Just then it looked like she realized something else. "Damn it, I hate it when I feel bad for someone I don't like."
Tristan had to chuckle at her persistence at hating him for no apparent reason, but decided to do as he said he would and answered her question, "I'm not bleeding. This is actually your blood."
"And why are you here?" she asked again.
"Um…" Tristan stalled.
"You said you would answer all of my questions," Scarlett reminde
d him.
"I know. But can we leave that question until the end?" he asked, looking up at her hopefully.
"Fine. Why were you throwing rocks at my window?" she asked.
"No one answered the front door," Tristan replied.
"Did the thought that everyone was sleeping enter your mind?"
"Yes, and that's why I decided to wake you up by throwing rocks at your window." Tristan smirked. This smirk usually made girls fall head of heels for him, but Scarlett looked utterly unaffected by it, which really startled him.
"Did you ever think that maybe it was kind of an unusual hour to talk to someone? I mean, it's about one o'clock in the morning. Not really a good time to have a nice, little chitchat with someone," Scarlett said in a very sardonic voice.
"Well, I've been waiting for you for about six hours—"
"Six hours? What, were you, like, in your car outside my house for that long?" Scarlett asked in an exasperated voice.
"Uh…yeah," Tristan answered.
"Why?"
"I have no idea," Tristan lied.
"Someone doesn't wait in a cramped up car for six hours to have no idea why they are doing it," Scarlett replied. "Why were you waiting outside for six hours?"
"No reason." Tristan tried to sound nonchalant.
"And I repeat: someone doesn't wait in a cramped up car for six hours for no reason. Will you please just answer my questions…truthfully?"
"I...well...you see, we need to get started on that project."
Scarlett snorted, "All right, and your plan was to scare the living daylights out of me by throwing rocks at my window instead of acting like any normal person and using a door. But then again using the door at twelve in the morning would seem a bit insane."
Tristan liked her a lot better like this. She wasn't guarding herself.
"Well, I tried your door."
"Really? I never would have guessed."
"Yeah, it was locked."
Scarlett's eyebrows scrunched together, "Then how did you get in?" And that was when she noticed the small cut marks on Tristan's knuckles. "You broke into my house?" she yelled.
"I told you I wouldn't answer any of your questions until you were calm. You're not calm," Tristan replied quietly.
"You broke in my house!" she screamed at him. "What would make you think that that is even legal, let alone right? Is there anything working up there in your brain because it sure as hell doesn't seem like it?" she bellowed.
"You're still not calm," Tristan whispered, looking at the ground.
Scarlett realized that she wasn't going to get anything out of him while she was frantic, but she still couldn't believe that he had actually broken into her house. She took about seven long, calming breaths while she made sure her eyes stared at anything in the room except the boy who was standing in front of her. Finally she looked back up and into Tristan's brown eyes, "I'm calm now."
Tristan gulped, "Okay."
"So, you broke into my house."
"Only to come and clean your wound. I knew you had been hurt because I didn't hear you get up from outside—"
"I didn't ask for any excuses. All I want to know is if you broke into my house."
"Yes," Tristan finally answered.
Scarlett nodded, "And you're obviously not going to tell me why you waited outside for six hours." It wasn't a question; it was a simple statement. "How much damage did you do to the house?" Scarlett asked.
"Enough," Tristan replied.
Scarlett laughed out loud, "Well, great. Do you realize how much of my allowance you just cost me?"
"Um…no?"
"None of it because I don't get an allowance," Scarlett replied.
Tristan smiled and couldn't help the laughter that escaped his lips. He really did like this Scarlett. She was funny and open. The walls that usually guarded her were gone, so he decided maybe this was the right time to strike.
"Scarlett," he said as he continued to look at the wooden floor of the kitchen underneath him rather than directly at her, "What did I do to you to make you hate me so much?"
Tristan thought, after what seemed like a lifetime to him, that he had blown it, and Scarlett had put the walls back up, but just when he had lost all hope, she said, looking straight at him with sharp eyes, "You tell me what you were doing at my house tonight, and I might remind you of what you did."
"I saw you with that guy," he confessed.
Scarlett nodded like she completely understood, but the look in her eyes made it clear to Tristan that she didn't understand the jealousy a boy could feel. But that was just it. He shouldn't be jealous of her. She was Scarlett White, the most notorious know-it-all who ever walked the halls of Watson High School. And he was Tristan Cox, the most popular, hottest player who ever entered through the doors of Watson High School. So, that damned stirring he kept feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't jealousy. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that it had anything to do with being jealous of Scarlett White's new boyfriend—but he wouldn't let himself believe that the guy was her boyfriend just yet. He shook his head, coming back to reality. It just wasn't possible to be jealous of that.
"So, you saw me with Francis and just decided it would be a great idea to play 'Romeo and Juliet'. Yes, I can totally relate," she said sarcastically.
Tristan laughed, "Well, I didn't expect you to make such a huge deal about it and hit your head on the edge of her bed."
"That was definitely not my fault," Scarlett replied.
"I guess not," Tristan said. "And I'm sorry."
Scarlett turned her head to look at Tristan full on. She blinked at him three times before she shook her head only to find out that it hurt a lot more than she had anticipated. She brought her hand up to cup her head as she pulled her legs up onto the counter to her chest and rested her elbows on her knees. Tristan's eyes momentarily rested on the creamy skin of her long legs.
"What?" Tristan asked.
"Nothing," Scarlett mumbled.
"Why did you give me that look?" Tristan pressed.
"You actually apologized," Scarlett whispered into her hands.
"You know, you make me out to seem like I'm some kind of heartless monster," Tristan said, looking at Scarlett fully now that she had her face in her hands. She was hot. She had a very nice body, especially when so much of her skin was showing. Tristan was once again dumbfounded at why Scarlett and her two other friends—Ginny and Kate; Meghan hadn't quite physically matured just yet—covered up their bodies so much. They were all hot. And they all—again, minus Meghan—possessed the attitude to be the Queens of Watson High, and yet they stayed at the bottom of the chain. And the weirdest part of it all was they didn't actually seem to care.
"Well, if you were in my shoes, you would think that you were a heartless monster," Scarlett said with her face still in her hands.
"Why? What did I ever do to you?"
"I don't really think it matters that much anymore. What's done is done."
"It matters to me. I want to apologize for whatever I did. I feel bad."
"How do you feel bad if you don't even know what you did?"
"I feel bad for making you feel bad." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words had escaped his mouth before he could stop himself.
"Who would have thunk it?" Scarlett said from underneath her arms. "Narcissus actually cares about someone else."
"There you go again: thinking that I only care about myself."
"Oh no, that's not all I think you care about," Scarlett said finally lifting her head up to look at Tristan, and he saw a light of mischief glitter in her eyes. "I also believe that you think about popularity, sex, and football."
Tristan was silent. He was completely dumbfounded. From the outside look on things, she was completely right. But he didn't care just about that stuff. He also cared about his family—sans his father—and he cared about college and keeping his car in check. And there were a lot of other things that he cared about. But he wasn't about
to try and explain that to Scarlett because he was sure she wouldn't even listen to him. She would probably shoot back excuses as to why he cared about those other things. She would probably say that he only cared about his family for appearance—popularity; he only cared about college for the football education they gave; and he only cared about his car for grabbing the interest of the female population—sex. Only about half of that was true, but Tristan was almost positive Scarlett wouldn't believe him even if he tried to argue. So, he didn't fight. He let it go.
"Can we not fight?" Tristan asked; he was too damn tired to argue with anyone right now.
"I don't exactly see how since I'm pretty sure anything you say, I'll contradict," Scarlett replied, finally uncurling her body.
