Blood Sweat and Tears (Francesca)

[Laura Richardson]

Laura glanced towards the door and rolled her eyes at herself. Francesca had taken her camera and it was a beautiful day. She wouldn’t be back for hours. So why did she feel so guilty? She wouldn’t die or anything, Francesca wouldn’t eve find out, most likely… A little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Francesca was very observant. It probably was why she was such a good photographer. She saw everything. Hell, in her head it was probably just like Sherlock Holmes’ or something.

Unbending the paperclip, Laura began the process of shutting her feelings behind iron bars and tall walls and padlocks. She could almost hear her uncle’s soft voice. “Alright, girly… this will hurt.” There was no time to be properly subtle or put this somewhere it wouldn’t show… she dug the paperclip into her left arm and pushed. Hard. Finally, after what felt like a decade, blood made an appearance. Laura positioned the cup where the blood would fall and kept going, teeth clenched together to prevent any noise coming out. Ouch…

But almost immediately she felt lighter, more free. She was less likely to hurt people just by looking at them. This was good. Laura thought about all the scars on her back… her arms and legs and thought about how you could tell which were hers and which were her uncle’s… Laura’s scars were slightly curved. Sometimes they ran in spirals, dancing over each other. Her uncle’s scars were straight and precise. She remembered him doing this for her, with a knife, sitting on the kitchen floor. She’d been littler then, she hadn’t been able to put up with it much. She’d been a silly nine year old… she hadn’t been able to stop crying because it hurt so much but uncle Kenneth had been patient even though crying was so wrong. Hearing someone coming, Laura shoved the paperclip in her pocket and the cup under the bed. But it wouldn’t stop bleeding. This was bad, so very bad.

Oh hell, oh hell, oh HELL…

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca sat on the bank of the stream, waiting for something to happen. It was a beautiful day, and she'd taken loads of photos of the stream. But she just couldn't get into the mood. Her wrists ached where the boy had held her, and she couldn't bring herself to leave the shadow of the school building in case he came back, and there was no-one to help. She hugged her camera against her chest, thankful of exactly one thing; he hadn't damaged it. Still, the thought that he might, that he was still walking around the school (she saw him sometimes) had her trembling fiercely.

She hadn't seen Laura, back in the dorm since it had happened; she'd gone straight in, curled up in her bed, and gone to sleep without even looking to see if Laura was there. She didn't think she'd be able stop herself crying for much longer, and she didn't want Laura to see it if she did. The girl had enough problems of her own, without worrying about Francesca's.
A jay alighted on a nearby bush. Francesca raised her camera, but she fumbled the shot, and the sudden movement scared the bird away. Her hands were shaking too much to switch the camera to auto mode, and after a few seconds, she just turned it off again. Maybe she would go back to the dorm. It was too exposed out here.

Sighing, she packed everything up and began to walk back to her dorm room. When she opened the door, her eyes widened, and she let out a whimper. Her first thought was of Morph. Had he got in here and hurt Laura? It looked like it. Laura was letting all the blood fall onto her bed and sheets- why hadn't she gone for help? Why hadn't she screamed? Francesca stared for a few more seconds, then shook herself back to reality. Snapping her fingers at Laura to stay there, she threw her camera onto the bed- checking to make sure it had a soft landing on the pillow- and turned on her heel, racing out of the room.

All thoughts of Morph were forgotten as she ran into the infirmary. There was a young nurse sat at a desk- she looked up when Francesca barged in. "Can I help you?"
Francesca look around wildly; there was a roll of bandage hanging from a shelf. She grabbed it, ignoring the nurse's protests, and ran back to her dorm, where Laura was still lying on the bed. She didn't know how Laura would react if she tried to bandage her up herself, so she stayed a good distance away, and offered the bandages in a trembling hand.

[Laura Richardson]

Laura watched in horror as Francesca came into the room. The blood was getting everywhere, she’d need to wash the sheets before anyone else touched it. Before she could even work out what to say, Francesca had run out of the room, telling her to stay put.

There wasn’t a lot of question of Laura going anywhere, blood was still flowing and she didn’t want to get it anywhere else that she couldn’t clean like the floor or the walls or… oh God on other people… Laura took the bandages, smiling a little embarrassedly. She had absolutely no idea what conclusions Francesca was making, but was sure she shouldn’t tell her that she’d done this to herself. People were either horrified or rolled their eyes and they were always angry with her. She didn’t want Francesca angry with her, it would be horrible.

Trying to wrap up her own arm was difficult, but she didn’t want any help. Within a few minutes, though, the blood was seeping through the bandage in places and Laura sighed. There would need to be medical people… and they didn’t understand the meaning of ‘no touching’. Looking up at someone who had just arrived in the room, Laura was a little surprised – speak of the devil and all – then realised Francesca had to get the bandages from somewhere.

“I’ll be ok.” She said hoarsely to her most-definitely-not-a-friend, trying a smile. She wasn’t all that keen on the sight of blood, if she was honest, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t deal with it. “Don’t… I mean… please don’t touch. Me, I mean. I don’t… um…” she was dithering, again… Laura took a breath. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She said, hoping it didn’t sound threatening at all. That had happened once. Ouch. She wasn’t looking to repeat the experience.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca hovered over her, wondering whether to help. A few times, she reached out to grab the bandage, but stopped herself. She wouldn't want help in this situation. So she stood over the bed, watching Laura anxiously, wondering what had happened. It was probably Morph, she thought. He'd probably got in here and used... Maybe he'd found a razor, or write or something and had used it to tear Laura's arm open. Oh, God. Francesca started to shake again, wrapping her arms around herself, leaning over her roommate.

The nurse came running in after her, and saw Laura. Immediately, her expression changed, and Francesca glared at her. Laura didn't want help. She didn't want to be touched, but medical people never got that. Laura spoke to Francesca, and Francesca felt very hurt. She knew it showed on her face, so she turned away, blocking the nurse's path to Laura. She couldn't get more upset now, it wouldn't help at all, and if the woman touched her, she would get upset.

When Francesca had got her emotions under control, she turned back to Laura and gave her a glare. You're not going to hurt me. I'm not touching you, so don't hurt me. She hoped that Laura got the message and didn't just think she was angry. When she turned, the nurse was still hovering uncertainly by the door. Francesca glared at her. Either make yourself useful, or get out. The woman didn't get the message, and stayed where she was, dithering about, wondering what to do. Useless. Francesca rolled her eyes and turned back to Laura, giving her almost-friend- the first one since she was nine- an encouraging smile, and indicated the arm, wondering if she was ok. What she really wanted to ask was do you need painkillers?, but she had no way to communicate that.

[Laura Richardson]

Seeing Francesca turn away, Laura’s stomach felt like it was shrivelling. She hadn’t meant to look like she’d said it to her, only… medical people were scary. Keeping an eye on the dithering nurse, she mumbled “I’m fine…” even if the blood seeping through the bandages made her words into a complete and utter lie.

“I didn’t… Francesca… I meant the nurse. I don’t want… they always touch me. And I say not to because I don’t… want to hurt people.” Laura stared at her knees some more, shooting a glance at the nurse before looking back down. She hadn’t meant to make it look like she was talking to Francesca, but apparently she’d gone wrong. Laura shivered as she reviewed the fact she appeared to break everything she touched. She wanted her not-a-friend to like her, but… liking her was dangerous. At least Francesca seemed to understand Laura’s rules. None of the adults did, not even Doctor Hudson.

The nurse finally decided to make herself useful and came over to inspect the damage. Laura flinched away.
“Let me see.” The nurse said, gently. She couldn’t help the girl if she refused to let her see what she’d done. The bleeding didn’t look life threatening, however it was still important to check for infections and close them up if need be. Laura didn’t move. She knew what would happen next. And she didn’t want anyone touching her. She looked up at Francesca, forgetting that she was probably not going to be much help in explaining. She couldn’t do this on her own. The bandages continued to take on an unhealthy red hue and Laura waited for something to happen that would save her. She couldn’t hurt this person. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

Eventually Laura looked up, hoping to catch Francesca’s eye. Hoping she was forgiven and she’d come to sit by her, Laura prayed she hadn’t seen the cup of blood under the bed. It suddenly struck her how macabre that could seem and wanted to keep anyone else from it.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca rolled her eyes at Laura, half-amused. You are so not fine. Liar. She gave Laura the tiniest of smiles, and shrugged at her. It didn't matter: Laura hadn't meant anything by it, and that was really all that mattered. That, and getting her sorted out. Francesca crouched down beside the bed, kneeling down to take a closer look at Laura's arm. It looked bad, but there was less blood soaking the bandages now, and the patches of red were no longer blossoming across the white at such a fast rate.

Glancing at the nurse, she glared, and pointed. There. It's fine, you don't need to be here any more. At that point, though, the nurse gently pushed her aside and bent over Laura. Francesca let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a cough, attracting the nurse's attention. When she looked up, Francesca shook her head at her, resolutely glaring all the while. Laura didn't need any more upset right now. The blood was stopping already, and it (hopefully) hadn't had time for infection to set in before they'd got bandages on it.

The nurse nodded and backed away reluctantly. Francesca sat down by the bed, leaning against it, and rested her head on the pillow, careful not to get too close to Laura. She sat there, simply staring at her friend- yes, friend, the first since she was nine- and watched her, wondering how Morph had been so heartless, to hurt a poor, innocent girl like Laura. How could he live with himself? He was sick. This was a psychiatric hospital, but Francesca felt sick at the mere thought of what might have happened if Peter hadn't turned up, or if she hadn't decided to come back to her room early and found Laura.

[Laura Richardson]

Laura smiled sheepishly back. Did Francesca mind what she’d done to herself? Everyone else had minded… a few people at her old school had looked at her strangely and asked if she did her scars herself. When she’d told them yes, they’d said she was an ‘emo’ whatever that meant. She hadn’t dared ask. Maybe it was another word for evil or something. But Francesca wasn’t tutting or glaring, so maybe she understood?

Laura shifted her knee and grimaced as she knelt in the blood. “I’ll, um…. Clean.” She said awkwardly, glancing in the nurse’s direction. The nurse sighed.
“Let someone else. I’m going to need to at least see. And you’ll need something for tetanus. Maybe stitches. I can’t help if I can’t see it.” The nurse directed most of this at Francesca. She appeared to be the one running this show. Laura looked alarmed. “No. No, you can’t touch… it’s not allowed. Especially not blood. You could get hurt, you might die…” Laura pushed down a sob.

“Well, I need to clean it. Do you have any idea how many germs--” The nurse cut off at the sight of Laura’s face. The nurse looked back at Francesca. “Try to convince her.” She ordered, long sufferingly, and went to get something useful. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be a strong brandy.

Laura turned to Francesca and smiled a bit, ignoring the still-spreading blood. “Are you ok?” Laura asked, quietly. She always felt strange talking around Francesca, like she was doing something enormously unnecessary, and a bit wrong. Francesca hadn’t seemed to be happy last night. Laura had found her already in bed when she came in, but out of guilt, mostly, she’d taken her medicine anyway. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t. Then she might have been able to work out why Francesca was so jumpy. Laura wished she could give her a hug…

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca was shaking as she stared at Laura's arm. God, what had he done to her? How could someone do that? By this time, she was convinced Morph had got in. No-one else could have done something like this, and there was no way she would have done that to herself. So it must have been him. Wincing slightly as she looked between Laura and the nurse, she wondered if she ought to do something more. Sighing slightly, she thought about letting the nurse at Laura. She might be able to help her, and the bleeding wasn't stopping. But on the other hand, Laura really didn't like being touched.

She sighed again, then pointed to the wound and the nurse. Let her look. Let her help. She stared pleadingly at Laura, hoping against hope she'd understand. Francesca didn't want her to be hurt, or worse, die. She probably wouldn't, but if she didn't let the nurse look, it might get infected, then she'd be in serious trouble. She smiled tremulously at Laura's question. Why was she asking if Francesca was alright? Laura was the one bleeding on the bed. She leaned back, resting her head on the bed and staring at the ceiling. She didn't want Laura upset, but all the same, she didn't want her bleeding to death, or getting an infection or anything.

She wondered what happened if Laura got touched. She talked about people dying. That was ridiculous, people didn't die because they touched her, surely? That was rubbish, why did she think something like that? But it might cause her to panic, and Francesca didn't want that. What if she hurt herself more? She frowned up at the ceiling, trying to figure out her roommate's mind, hoping the nurse would just get out and leave them in peace as soon as she'd looked.

[Laura Richardson]

Laura watched Francesca’s shaking worriedly. Maybe in future she should… do this outside or in the bathroom or something. Somewhere nobody was going to look. A classroom maybe? And she didn’t want to have stitches or anything, they sedated her when they did those and then they hurt and then you had to get them out and everything.

When the nurse returned, holding something that looked suspiciously like fluid for cleaning, Laura hesitated, gave Francesca a do-I-really-have-to? look, then began t unwind the bandage. She had to admit it didn’t look good. She was sure she hadn’t done anything stupid like slash her wrists. Besides, you needed more than a paperclip and determination to do that didn’t you? She could feel the paperclip burning a hole in her pocket and Laura wriggled as the last of the bandage came away to reveal a red, oozing, cut up mess. She swore it had got worse over time, it hadn’t… when she’d done that, it had looked like it always did.

The nurse leaned in close, looking but not touching. “Alright. We’ll need to clean it first and stop the bleeding. Then I’ll need a closer look…” Wincing and one hundred percent sure how this would go down, she continued. “You will probably need stitches to make it heal faster. They’ll stop as much scarring as well. Are you going to clean this yourself, or will you let me or Francesca do it?” She’d seen the other girl’s name on the door as she came in. The questions she really wanted to ask was “Did you do this yourself?” and “What with?” but that was out of the question for the moment.

Laura stared. “I… don’t need it to heal fast. And scars are ok. Really. Another one won’t make any difference…” She ignored the still bleeding arm. To her it looked a little too much like a prop from a horror film for her liking.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca turned her head and smiled at Laura, trying to look reassuring. It seemed her friend was very close to panic, and Francesca didn't want that at all. She couldn't cope with that level of stress right now, not after what had just happened. She winced and flinched away when the wound was revealed, but stayed where she was, near Laura, not too close for comfort. She stared at the cut for a few seconds, wide-eyed. Had it really been that bad? How hadn't she noticed how bad it was before? Surely it couldn't have got worse, it was bandaged.

Dragging her eyes away from the gory mess, she smiled weakly at Laura, still trying to reassure her, trying to hide her trembling. She wasn't a wimp, but blood always made her feel a little squeamish. Lose enough, and you died. That thought had always freaked her out. Avoiding the red stains all over the place, Francesca stared at Laura's face, wondering what Morph had used to do it to her. She wrapped her wrist around her other wrist, trying to stop the trembling. It probably looked quite odd to the nurse, but Francesca didn't really care.

When Laura spoke again, Francesca glared. She did need it to heal fast, and scars weren't good! She just didn't want to be touched. Francesca glowered at her, angry with Laura for her apparent lack of care about herself. Why wasn't she bothered? Was she really so desperate not to be touched? Why was she being so stupid? Chewing on her knuckle, she stared incredulously at Laura, wondering what was going through her mind. Surely, if someone had done this to you, you'd be more panicked? Unless...

No. Francesca refused to believe that her new friend had done this to herself. She did need to, and Francesca couldn't see the attraction in self-harm anyway. No, it was definitely someone else, and if it was someone else, then it had probably been Morph. It was just the sort of thing that kind of person would do for a laugh. Sick bastard.

[Laura Richardson]

Laura squirmed under the gaze of so many people staring at what she’d done to herself. She still wasn’t used to the incredulous looks and horror that people gave her when they saw what she’d done. Her uncle hadn’t batted an eyelid, only told her that it was good. She was learning to do this for herself. And she hadn’t known before she left the school that people did that sort of thing, so she hadn’t asked… Then Francesca glared and Laura’s excuses died in her throat.

“I’ll clean it…” She reached out for what the nurse was handing her. She knew how it should feel, even if she was usually screaming and thrashing about and begging them not to touch her and generally ‘causing a scene’ as her foster father said. It wasn’t her fault if they wouldn’t listen. She didn’t flinch as the stuff – whatever it was, it was cold – stung. The nurse continued to examine the wound. Ah, crap.

“Well, you’ll need stitches.” The nurse said, hoping she sounded as final as possible. This would be a disaster if the girl thought she could get out of it. Not leaving a moment for any protest, she took the bloody cloth from the girl and was pleased to note the bleeding had almost stopped. Not that that meant anything really. “So, Laura. Did you do this to yourself?” The nurse had brought along a suture kit, but if she had to sedate the girl she’d rather be in the infirmary. She wondered if her friend could help calm her down. She seemed to be the one running the show at any rate. Preparing the needle as she spoke, she kept her mind clean and professional. Soon she could go back o her book and coffee.

“Um… yes. But… please don’t. I didn’t mean to make it that bad!” Laura was three quarters of the way to freaking out and Marianne suppressed a groan.
“Laura, if you do not cooperate I will have to sedate you. It’s for your own good.” With that she waited to see the girl’s reaction. When none came, she carried on. “Stitches are not a punishment. They are used to speed up healing, like I told you. And I know you said you didn’t need it, but there is far less chance for infection if you do.” She eyed the girl and the girl’s friend. Hopefully Francesca could talk – or look – some sense into her.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca stared in horror at her cut, still transfixed by the bloody mess that Morph - or Laura, but that wasn't right, was it? - had caused. She was shaking more than ever now, and she could feel the blood leaving her face. She didn't want to cry, but the stress of the last few days was building up on her, and she bit her lip until it bled, trying to stop herself from screaming. She'd liked it here! She'd felt safe, and now this happened! Morph, and then Laura had gone and done this - she was now fairly certain it had been Laura, despite her previous assertions - and now she felt awful and she wanted to go back home where she was allowed to be alone with her camera and a box of matches and she could be in peace and quiet and there was no-one to worry about and no-one who worried about her and... no, she couldn't go home. Wouldn't. How could she even have thought that? Home was gone now, burned away and they had survived, which meant they could still come for her, and if she thought like that then they might be able to get her away from here and then there would be no-one to make sure Laura took her medication and... The tears welled over, and she buried her head in her arms, her body shaking with quiet, delicate sobs. She bit her lip harder, trying to stop herself, for Laura's sake, but she couldn't.

The nurse's words broke through her tears, and she looked up, looking from Laura to the nurse, then turned to Laura, nodding pleadingly. Please. Just let her help you. Please. She stared at Laura, her face red and blotchy with tears, still shaking, fresh tears spilling over onto her cheeks as she stared.

[Laura Richardson]

Laura looked from Francesca to the nurse and back again. Francesca was sad, she knew that. She didn’t want Francesca to be upset. What if she did? The nuse seemed to think it was really important, and Francesca wanted her to, and what if she did? Laura could barely remember what touch that wasn’t painful felt like. Although this would hurt, she knew. She’d had stitches before… did that make it less bad? But there was always a part that didn’t hurt, they didn’t know what they were doing, that was bad. Really bad. She could hurt this nurse… person.

“No.” She said finally, breaking through her own haze of wondering what to do. “No, I can’t you could get hurt, you could die, it’s not… fair and I don’t want to kill anyone, I don’t want anyone else to die!” Laura began to sob. She had no idea what to do. On the one hand it was wrong, on the other it was making people sad… she couldn’t see any kind of way out of this.

“Sweetie, you need to have these stitched up.” The nurse said firmly. It was half hearted, though. She knew there would be no persuading her at this point, not after everything else. She wondered if she should threaten to sedate her again, but it hadn’t worked the first time. Sighing, she pulled the hypodermic out and turned to Laura. “Nobody’s going to die, sweetie.” Panicking was only going to make the whole thing worse even if they did manage to convince her. “Deep breath.” She instructed, as she sedated Laura. Turning to her friend, she gave her a hard look. “And don’t you give me a hard time about this either…” Stutre kit out, she began to sort out the things she’d need.