Chapter 19 - Well, here goes nothing...

                                    

                                          
Chapter 19 – Well, here goes nothing...
                          
Lucy's POV
                          
It's quickly closing in on eleven o'clock when we get back to Justin's house, but David doesn't want to wait until morning. He and Wayne head straight into the office and begin to prepare for this meeting, with Wayne having the job of calling every pack member and informing them of the immediate emergency Pack gathering. Wendy makes her way into the dining room and starts moving the furniture around in preparation, and the others soon follow to help. Most of this is done in silence, as everyone still seems far too lost in their own thoughts and worries to even attempt at a conversation. I'm about to follow and help when I feel Justin grab my good arm to stop me, and I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips. 
                          
"What now, Justin?" I ask, and frown when he doesn't let go of my arm. 
                          
"We can go and help them in a minute," he replies whilst tugging me towards the stairs, which only causes me to grow more cautious. "But first, there's a first aid kit in the bathroom."
                          
"I don't need a first aid kit, my arm's fine!" I argue, rolling my eyes. 
                          
"Look," he says, turning around halfway up the stairs so he can face me. "It might not be that deep, but it's still bleeding." I glance down at my left arm and wince at the amount of blood that's already seeped through my sleeve. "And it can still get infected," Justin continues. "So, whether you like it or not, I'm not going to let it go left untreated, alright? Besides... the entire Pack will be here in half an hour, do you really want the Harbours to see you like this?"
                          
Okay, so he has a point, I guess. If Richard or Louisa saw me like this then I'd never hear the end of it. 
                          
"Fine," I mutter, yanking my arm out of his and motioning for him to lead the way. 
                          
"Good," he replies, before we make the rest of the way upstairs. "You can go and wait in my room if you want, I'll be right back." As soon as he says that, he disappears off into the bathroom, which leaves me standing alone in the hallway. After a few seconds of contemplating, I decide to do as he says and slowly make my way into his room, remembering that his room has always been the second door on the right. 
                          
To say that entering his room feels weird would be a complete understatement, and I can't help but take everything in as I head over and sit on his bed. Although the size and shape of his room is exactly the same as I remember it, I hardly recognise it at all. The last time I was here, the walls were green and he still had his racing car bed in the centre of the room. Now, the four walls of the room are painted a dark blue, and the racing car has been replaced with a double bed which sits in the far right corner. The floor's still wooden, and the box seat window that I used to be obsessed with is the same as ever, but apart from that everything else is completely unfamiliar. There's a gigantic TV mounted on the wall opposite his bed, and every bit of furniture is made of black metal. A desk sits in the left corner of the room, looking neat and tidy and holding a laptop. And a wardrobe and bookshelf are positioned next to the door. The bookshelf doesn't just hold books, though, as I notice it holds a few other bits and pieces that I'm too far away to study properly. The small child's room I once knew has transformed into a more adult and unrecognisable room... and I wasn't around to witness the change. It's a saddening thought, to say the least. 
                          
Just then, the door opens, and I look up to see Justin walk in holding a first aid kit and a bowl of water. Walking over, he places everything down on the floor in front of me, and it's only then that I notice the quite large pair of kitchen scissors in his hand. 
                          
"Relax," he says, sounding amused by the obvious look of worry on my face. "I need to cut your sleeve to get to the bite."
                          
"Oh. Right," I reply with a small blush, feeling slightly stupid. Obviously he'd have to cut my sleeve, because the only other option would be for me to completely take my top off, which I am definitely not going to do.