â
Guilt.
Itâs a word that means self-hatred is eating him alive, starting from deep within his body. It chews up his sense of pride, then spits it back in his face. It leaves his lungs burning from lack of air, his throat parched as a cracked desert ground, and his eyes welling with tears. It makes him shut his eyes tight because he wants the lights to go out, he doesnât want to exist unless he can go back in time and stop himself from making such a stupid mistake.
He brushes the back of his hand across his nose as he sniffs, and his lower lip wobbles. Samuel forces himself to look at the ugly  gash on Nateâs arm. The medical kit in his hands shakes, slips from his fingers, and busts open on the floor.
âI-I didnât mean it,â he says quietly.Â
He drops to his knees and scoops up the fallen equipment. Disinfectant, a tube of slimy gel to keep out bacteria, some pain killers, and gauze strips. âYou must hate me,â he says. âYou...you donât hate me, do you?â
His tired, yellow eyes plead for forgiveness.
âYouâll probably hate me more after this because it might sting a littleâ he sighs. He douses a cotton ball in disinfectant, then gently grabs Nathanielâs arm. âPlease, please just -- just hold still, I know it hurts.â
He dabs the gel around the edges of the wound, keeping each tap as light as possible. There are beads of sweat collecting on Nathanâs forehead, which Sam pats down with a tissue. If it werenât for his shallow breathing, poor Nate could be mistaken for dead all slumped against the gymnasium wall. Samuel rifles through the kit for some baby wipes, figuring that they would feel cool against his friendâs skin.
So, he pulls a handful of baby wipes from the back, folds them, and presses them against Nathanielâs forehead. âJust a few more seconds, then itâll be bandaged up,â he says. His voice is so gentle -- so heavenly softspoken -- but he was anything but gentle a few minutes ago.Â
Samuel hardly remembers what heâd done only moments ago. He only remembers bits and pieces of angry growls and clawing at someone to release his rage. Itâs nothing but a mess in his mind.
He wraps the gauze tight around the wound.
âSee? Youâll be okay now that itâs all wrapped up,â he says. âLet me see the others.â














