Pick'N'Mix Mods for The Sims 2

18 - First-Aid

"Put that up there", Sophia-Grace demanded, pointing first at his still bleeding calf and then at a rock.

She sat, cross-legged, and picked the larger pieces of gravel from the cut with a pair of tweezers she'd produced from a small cloth bag. As she poured a can of cold water over the cut, Deano involuntary flinched.

"Don't be such a baby", she scolded, cleaning the wound with a scrap of cloth. Bright red blood pulsed from the deep cut.

"Drink", she commanded, pointing to the open bottle of vodka by his side, "and again. Now give."

Externally she was forceful, internally she was turning to jelly.

Without warning, she splashed the spirit over the cut, he yelped and tried to flinch away as the pain soared up his leg, but she had his shin in a vice like grip. The pain of the spirit was nothing compared to what came next, as with quick fingers she pulled a pre-threaded needle from the lapel of her blouse and stabbed it not once, but twice across the wound, drawing the sides together. Washing the blood from her hands with the remains of the water from the can, she placed the vodka bottle to her lips, took four big gulps, and then burst into uncontrollable tears.

In the days and weeks that followed, Sophia-Grace had no memory of leaving the store or returning to the bus, she could only remember the blood and the burn of the spirit as it flooded down her throat.

She never remembered Deano's arms around her as she cried, rocking her gently, whispering senseless words and meaningless sounds. Holding her tight to him as wave after wave of tears swept through her, telling her that everything will be all right, that he'll never let any harm come to her, and that he'd never leave her. Actions she'd witnessed numerous times when Ona would startle from her sleep, in fright and inconsolable tears.

She didn't remember recounting the half-told tales about the families they'd been placed with, where the 'nice aunts' treated them no better than slaves and the 'kind uncles' abused her. Nor the repeated rapes by the sons that resulted in an abortion and her being branded as an 'alcoholic slut who constantly broke curfew to sleep with older boys'. Nor the admission, that, as she was going to be labelled as such she may as well benefit from it, with the consequent arrest for soliciting. And she never remembered the murderous looks that crossed Deano's face during the telling.

She didn't remember passing out, her head on his shoulder, and then being laid gently, lovingly, on the ground. Nor being covered with his jacket as he returned to the bus to check on the girls, or his return with a blanket to cover her. She didn't remember his arms around her in the darkest hour of the night as she started crying again, nor the meaningless murmurings and words of comfort until she fell asleep.

Sophia-Grace slowly surfaced from slumber in the pre-dawn light, cold and damp from the dew that covered her clothes. Her back and stomach were surprisingly warm. A splitting headache pounding at her temples, she groaned as her fuzzy vision caught sight of the empty bottle of vodka. She sprang up, her head spinning, fighting dizziness and nausea, as she realized that Deano was the warmth on her back, his hand resting on her stomach where her soiled ripped blouse had ridden up.

"Oh no!", she groaned to herself, "I didn't, did I?", slumping to the ground.

She hid her face in her hands and moaned, "Oh god, please no, not like that".

She stared at him, hating him for being able to sleep like an innocent, his jacket, folded to make a pillow, lay accusingly where she'd been.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

She mentally penned several paragraphs of her life-story, adding one more male who'd taken advantage of her body, glaring daggers at him, when she stopped, realizing she was still in full possession of her underwear. Her mind did a few Control-Zs on her life-story, and, cocking her head to one side, she studied him in a new light, the faintest smile forming on her lips.

She shivered, there were still a couple of hours of night left. Deano stirred in his sleep, his exposed arm casting around. Sophia-Grace tucked his arm in and lay back down, drawing the blanket over herself. She dozed; unconsciously she snuggled back into Deano, his arm drawing her into him.

Sophia-Grace woke to the smell of coffee. Deano was sat on a rock watching her, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips. A mug of coffee, the first-aid kit, a pan of steaming water and her toiletries bag were neatly placed on a flat stone between them.

"Morning", he said quietly, "how's your head?"

She studied his smile before replying. "Bad", she croaked, "very bad".

Rising, he indicated the coffee, then a small tree where he'd hung a change of clothes, "Lottie and Ona are burning breakfast if you're interested", he said, leaving.

"Or if you just want to save your pans", he called back over his shoulder.

17 - Blood Trail 19 - Semblance Of Normality