The Bleeding Heart

Dronith was a 16-year-old boy. A total nerd at heart, he was always seen with his nose in a book, his fingers on joysticks, or attempting to avoid chores his mother gave him. Almost six feet tall, he wasn’t exactly muscled, but he was fit enough. Dark hair, hazel eyes, and almost a total loser.

Malina was 17; she was outspoken and free with her beliefs. Her energy and enthusiasm was sometimes offsetting to some, but attracted the attention of others. A little over five feet, with fiery red hair, and green eyes, she was sporty, and showed it in her somewhat slim, delicately muscled appearance. She was also very definitely female in a certain respect, her body showing the signs of maturity.

Both of them were prime examples of youth, and very separate from each other. But oddly, as everyone else knew, they were so in love with each other; it was painful to watch, since neither of them knew the emotion was mutual. They were oblivious to the signs of affection on both sides, as much as they showed their emotions to one another.

Dronith had found, throughout the course of his life, that his relation with the opposite gender, nay, with ANYONE, was tedious at best. His attempts at socialization tended to end fruitlessly, and any result otherwise was usually negatively explosive, often resulting in harm on his part, either mentally, physically, or both.

Malina didn’t have such problems; people tended to either like her, or ignore her. She had few actual adversaries. She had a few relationships here and there, but was still looking for “The one”, whether or not she would find him any time soon, she did not know.
Dronith and Malina had been school mates for a couple years at this point, friends, but not much else. Both fairly energetic and passionate about their beliefs, even if their interests were varied, they actually somehow made a great team. But some could tell Dronith was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into depression.

They had known each other for a few years at this point, and were great friends, hanging out sometimes. Malina and Dronith were working on a school project one day, and Melina was on her way to his house to help with it. She had plans to finally come out with her little crush.

Letting herself in, Melina walked to Dronith’s room. It was in the basement, somewhat segregated from the rest of the house. What she found there hit her like a glacier fired from a canon, and chilled her blood just as fast.

Dronith stood in the middle of the room; he had a dagger in his hand, and was getting ready for a plunge straight for his chest. From what she could see, there was a look of profound loneliness on his face.

“Dronith, NO!” She screamed, lunging for the dagger. A scream was audibly heard, and drops of blood fell to the floor where Dronith stood. The swift steps of his parents were heard coming down the stairs to the basement.

~-~

The next day, parents of both sides were at the hospital, inquiring a doctor.

“The wound was deep, Mam, but your child is fine. The patient in question had a couple major arteries and nerve bundles injured, and it may cause problems with operation of- Yes, we almost lost your child. The loss of blood was extensive, had it not been for the transfusion from the other child, thank god for O+ blood…”

In the bed, in the room, Malina laid, her left hand, her dominant hand, wrapped in gauze. Holding her other hand fondly, and looking rather pale, Dronith say, a bandage on his arm from where the doctors had wired him for the transfusion.

The day before, due to Malina’s fast actions, she had intercepted the knife. It had cut through her hand, but had stopped short of puncturing Dronith’s chest, where it would have struck through the heart.

Dronith slowly stroked Melina’s cheek. No words of love were passed between them. There was no need for such things. Dronith was mute, and even if he could speak, Melina was deaf.