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
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
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