The Hours We Have

chapter thirty-eight

We didn't go to the hospital. 

In between my spells of ignoring the world, after I had emptied my soul, I heard my brothers talking while the car moved through the awakening city. Mikeal had said we couldn't afford hospitalization bills, he was right. Roman had said we couldn't afford medical records with bad police, he was right. Ezra had said he could do his best for us, and I trusted him.

We arrived back home in broad daylight. It seemed so surreal that monsters not only hid in the shadows of the night but behind the faces of people. Especially those who smile and fool everyone into believing they're good people. Appearances were foolish, images were fake, and I hadn't seen it coming until it was too late. 

Ezra left my side for only a moment before he was pulling me out of the backseat and into his arms. It surprised me how gentle he could be. I kept my own arms close to my chest and my head ducked beneath his chin. Somehow, it made me feel safer as he walked into the house. 

Because the second he stepped through the front door, I knew Finley would no longer be there to greet us as we came home. 

I knew it and at the same time, I wanted to deny it with every fiber of my being. I wanted to believe that somehow, by some miracle of God, that Finley was still alive. 

Everything seemed fuzzy in my head and I found myself sitting in the armchair in the living room. Ezra made sure I was okay, physically at least. 

Roman was laid down on the couch and Mikeal re-entered the room with the first aid kit. Ezra had lifted Roman's shirt and it was only then I realized Roman was bleeding a little more than just a few scrapes. 

He had a two-inch gash that cut diagonally across his left side but from my view of it, I knew it hadn't hit anything internally. He might have twisted at the last moment and saved himself from a direct stab--possibly a fatal one if it had struck a lung. Either way, his skin was just as dark and ugly as mine.

"How bad is it?" Mikeal asked lowly. 

Ezra grabbed antiseptic from the white box and placed a gauze patch over the wound to temporarily ease the bleeding. "It just scraped his ribs, he'll be fine." 

Roman exhaled in relief and let his head fall back on the pillow. Mikeal seemed relieved, too, as he released the tension in his fingers that had been running through his hair. It seemed to be a trait that all my brothers shared when nervous. 

"But I'm going to have to give him stitches," Ezra added.

Roman's head snapped back up, "What?" 

"Don't be a baby," Ezra rolled his eyes, "You won't need more than three or four. I can see damaged adipose tissue, so either I can stitch you up quickly, or we can haul your ass to the hospital so an entire floor can hear you wail like a toddler." 

Roman stared at him like he was crazy. "Can't I just not get stitches?" 

"Sure, if you want a higher risk of infection, and an ugly unhealed scar for the rest of your life," Ezra shrugged. Mikeal pinched the bridge of his nose in the background. Roman was glancing between his two oldest brothers. 

"You're not a doctor," He blurted.

"I was in college to become one," Ezra calmly shot back, "How long do you want to bleed out?" 

Roman never responded because the answer was obvious. Besides the fact, I knew Ezra had experience with stitches. He had done fourteen months of clinical and they had given him a duffle bag loaded with supplies, including a suture kit, that which Mikeal carried into the living room a few moments later.