Line

Time slows, and adrenaline rushes through me.
I tilt my head back, feeling the calm take over.
I allow myself a moment of bliss before I come back to reality.
A thin red line flows down, pooling onto the counter.
Aftercare is very important, you see.
Wiping up the excess, cleaning the fresh wound, and bandaging everything up and back into place.
As I clean the counter, I use alcohol, bleach, and disinfectant.
The red line, stubborn and relentless, shows itself again.
The aftercare routine is back in swing; patience is wearing thin.
I hear the front door.
I move faster.
Flush the toilet, wash my hands, check, and double-check that everything is tidy and clean.
Mom calls out, I take a deep breath, and I pull down my sleeve.
I walk through the door to the nightmare that called out to me.
The line will always call those in need.
I can only hope the next line won't be the last I write.