His face was drained of color and sweat was coating his body. Shame washed over me. I’d stooped to a whole new low. What was I becoming? “Emily, I need your help. I need you to get the first aid box and a glass of water. I need it now. I suspect you’re going to need to put in some stitches.” Getting to my feet, tears streaking my eyes, I rushed over to him, slipping an arm around his waist and helping him to the bed. He was in bad shape, very bad. I’d say worse than when I’d stabbed him. I could run, get away, he might die here. But that would make me a murderer and that wasn’t who I was. I needed to hold tight to the remaining slivers of my soul; I’d given up so much already. Once to the bed, Tanner flopped face-first down onto it and the wounds became visible. A gasp escaped me, I’d been so consumed with rage, with getting revenge on him, that I hadn’t even noticed how badly his back had become as I was whipping him.
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