Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

I run into the room, the darkness all around me as I step on the glass. The burning is going straight from my foot to my calf. I ignore the pain as I turn on the light, my gun still pointed. "Fuck," I hear hissed from the floor and look down to see Mayson lying on his stomach. One of the lamps from the side table on the floor is smashed, the glass of water smashed into little pieces.

My eyes fly to the window, seeing it’s still closed as I look back down at Mayson. Blood all around him, I rush to him, putting the gun down beside me as I turn him over to his back. "Mayson," I whisper, and his eyes open. The anguish and pain is written all over his face. "You’re bleeding," I tell him, looking down at the blood that seeped through the white shirt he is wearing. "I need to get you up," I say and turn around to pick him up by his shoulders. I slip my hands under his arms, and he fights with me.

"I got it," he hisses out angrily. I look at him as he struggles to get up and into the bed. I walk over to him to help him get his legs into the bed, but his voice angrily stops me. "I said I got it." He doesn’t look at me as he gets back into bed.

I look at him, my heart thumping so fast in my chest that the heat is creeping up the back of my neck. The sweat beads all over his forehead, making me know he’s taken more energy getting into bed than he cares to admit. His chest is rising and falling as my eyes go to the drop of blood leaking down his side and onto the white pad under him.

"I have to get the bleeding to stop," I say, turning to walk away and wincing. I stop mid-step and look down to see blood coming out of the bottom of my foot. "Shit," I hiss out, looking over my shoulder to see his eyes looking straight at my foot.

"Make sure there isn’t glass stuck in there." He motions with his chin toward my foot. I just turn my head back, making my way to the bathroom, putting the pressure on the heel of my foot.

I walk over to the bathtub and sit on the edge. Turning on the water, I wait until it’s warm before I let it wash over my foot. The heat stings just a bit. Taking a second for myself, I close my eyes and let my heart calm down. So many fucking things were going through my head when I heard the glass crashing. I thought it was his father. I thought I would walk into the room and find him dead. "Are you okay in there?" I hear his voice and wipe away the lone tear rolling down my cheek.

"Yeah," I say, grabbing a towel to wrap my foot in it, trying to close off my head. I apply pressure to it and then unwrap it and see it is sliced right through. "It went right through!” I shout, looking down at the red line straight down the bottom of my foot. Little droplets of blood are starting to come out.

"Do you need stitches?" he shouts, and I take a look at it.

"I think I’ll just need to bandage it," I tell him, wrapping the towel around it and applying pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding. Swinging my feet out of the tub, I get up, placing all the pressure on the heel of my foot as I walk back into the room. "I need shoes," I say to him, avoiding his eyes. I slip my feet into my surgical Crocs.

I close my eyes and swallow down the lump in my throat. Taking a deep breath, I go back into the room. "Okay." I look at him, stopping in my tracks. His shirt is already off, and he is taking off his own bandage. "What do we have there?" I say once I’m beside his bed, looking down to see that the stitches are still there but not sure they are all there.

"Nothing," he says. "I’m fine."

"Let me clean it and make sure you didn’t pop a stitch," I say, walking over to the bathroom. The sting of my foot hits me, and I know I should check it out and make sure it doesn’t get infected. He lets me clean it without saying anything to me. His head lies back on the pillows, and his eyes close. After I clean the blood off, I see he isn’t bleeding anymore. "All stitches accounted for." I smile, but he doesn’t look at me. "Must have just irritated them when you fell off the bed," I say, and he just nods his head. "Why didn’t you call me?" I look at him, and he shakes his head.

"It was nothing," he tells me, his voice tight. I look over at him, and I know he’s lying. I know that it was something. I see the fear in his eyes as he looks at me and then back out the window.

"I don’t think you ending up face-first on the floor is nothing," I tell him, turning and walking back into the hall closet to grab a broom. I walk back into the room, ignoring his eyes on me. "Should I call Ethan?" I ask, not looking at him as I sweep up the broken glass.

"I’m fine," he says. "I’ll pay you back for the lamp," he says, and I laugh out bitterly now.

"I don’t want your money," I tell him, turning and walking to the kitchen and dumping the broken glass into the garbage. I put the broom away and walk back to the bedroom. I find him with his head back on the