"Do you want me to come with you?" Dylan asked after we had successfully laid Carson down in the backseat of my car.

"Should we come, too?" Zach asked. It was obvious he was only asking because he felt he had to, definitely not because he wanted to witness the aftermath of this.

I shook my head, "No, no. He'll probably get all freaked out if there's too many of us."

Dylan nodded, "You're probably right. Zach, you should take Luna home."

He nodded and headed off to his car with Luna between his arms. Dylan looked over to Jason, who was now sitting against the wall facing us, but looking to the ground.

He sighed, "I'll take J home and come check on Carson tomorrow."

I looked through the backseat window to Carson, trying to gather my bearings. Looking at him, however, really had the opposite affect. His eyes were closed, his face was all twisted in pain, and his brows were furrowed inwards.

"Call me if you guys need anything," Dylan said.

"Yeah, of course."

I ended our conversation quickly, wanting to get Carson back home as soon as possible. I climbed in the car, looking back one more time at Carson before taking off.

* * *

I led him upstairs to my bathroom, sitting him down on the ledge of the bathtub. I grabbed out the first aid kit from under the sink.

I walked back over to Carson with a wet cloth and alcohol swabs.

"This is going to sting," I warned as I began with his head, cleaning up the blood around his hairline and ears, and his mouth and nose. The more blood that I wiped away, the more cuts and gashes appeared across his cheeks and forehead.

Thankfully, none of the cuts were large enough to need stitching. The shock he must have been in seemed to almost paralyze him; I thoroughly cleaned each of the cuts with the alcohol and still, Carson didn't even flinch.

After I had finished bandaging his face, I moved on to his hands. His left hand wasn't that bad, mostly just some minor scuffs, dried blood, and really chipped nails.

His right hand, however, had a really nasty gash and the knuckles were really busted. There were so many bruises, his hand was almost completely purple. When I could finally bring myself to take his hand, I just held it between mine, just staring at it.

There were so many things I wanted to ask him right now. How could you do this to yourself? What were you thinking? What hurt you? Why would you scare us like this? Why would you scare me like this?

Why wouldn't you just come to me?

I knew better than to ask him anything now, so I cleaned his hand up and finished bandaging him. He stood up, ready to leave, getting up slowly. It was easy to tell he was having trouble keeping his balance.

"Where are you going?" I asked, placing my hands on his shoulders.

"I'm not staying in here. I don't want to talk."

"I didn't ask you to. Now sit back down, you can barely stand. I have to check for a concussion."

It really didn't take a genius to figure out he had one. I still did the tests to make sure (Hell knows I had seen my parents do it enough times). It was a minor concussion, but still.

"Okay," I said. "We're done now."

I grabbed his hands and helped him to his room. Once we had gotten there, I pulled him out a clean hoodie and a fresh pair of sweatpants.

"Can I?" I asked him. He nodded his head.

I took off his shirt, which was had a splattered rim of blood around the neckline. I took off his pants too, which now had big holes in them. I slid on his hoodie and helped him into his sweatpants. I walked him over to his bed.

"Okay, out." Carson dismissed me, sitting down against the headboard, trying to hide a wince.

I rolled my eyes, "No, that's not how it's gonna work tonight. Tomorrow, you can ignore me all you want. But tonight, I'm going to stay with you to make sure you don't die in the middle of the night from how badly you bruised up your head. And in honesty, I don't trust you to be on your own tonight. So suck it up, I'm staying."

I went to the door and turned off the lights. I shrugged off my own clothes, which now also had Carson's blood on them. I left on my sports bra and took a pair of his boxers.

I slipped into bed next to Carson. I didn't plan on sleeping tonight. He had really shaken me up, and I feared that if I feel asleep he would sneak off and run away somewhere that no one could find him this time.

Carson came closer to me. I sighed as he wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head into my chest. When he fell asleep, a great weight was lifted from my chest. He was here, in my arms, and not out there, hurting himself some more.

He was here. He was with me. And he was going to be okay.

* * *

"Hey," Dylan greeted. I smiled at him half-heartedly as we walked to class together. "How is he?"

I shrugged, "I'm not sure. He was throwing up when I got home from school yesterday. So good news is, we know he wasn't doing it while he was sober, not that it really is any better. Anyways, I left him some medicine to knock him out. He'll probably just sleep through the next day or so."

Dylan nodded as he processed everything. "Has he said anything?"

I shook my head, "He doesn't want me or my help. I'm giving him space."

It had been almost two days and still, Carson hasn't so much as uttered a word to me. I tried to stay out of his way. I left him antibiotics and new bandages in his room before he woke up. I hoped at some point Carson would actually get over himself and just talk to me, but I also wasn't going to force him to.

"Do you think we should bring him to the doctor's? You know, just in case."

"My mother checked him out earlier. She said he's fine and just needs some rest. Now can we stop talking about him? I'm drained."

We sat down in the classroom. I have never not wanted to be at school more. I just wanted to sleep. Or eat. I don't care, I just don't want to be here.

"Careful, Mads. Someone might think you actually care about him," Dylan joked.

Yeah. Right.

* * *