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Constantino hesitates, clearly wrestling with himself, but finally agrees. "Alright. Thank you."
"Whatever," I mutter, storming back into the room. Emotions swirl in my chest – anger, fear, frustration – as I prepare to save the lives of men I never wanted to be associated with in the first place. And all because of Constantino's damn pleading eyes.
I march over to the guy on the floor, forcing back my anger and fear. His breathing is labored, blood pooling around him. Pushing aside my reluctance, I swiftly assess his wound – a bullet hole in his abdomen. Then, I glance at the second guy, who's slumped against the wall with blood soaking through his shirt. Shit. He's even worse off.
"You!" I snap at the only other guy who doesn't appear to be shot, grabbing his attention. "Get me a med kit, now!"
He looks around helplessly, clearly not knowing where to find one. Groaning inwardly, I turn to Constantino. "You! Go get a goddamn med kit."
His eyes flash with annoyance, but he doesn't argue. "Stay with her, Seb," he says before he disappears into another room, leaving me to deal with the wounded men.
As soon as Constantino returns with the med kit, I get to work on the first guy. "Hold this," I order, thrusting a wad of gauze into Constantino's hand. "Apply pressure on the wound while I prep."
Constantino does as he's told, a rare sight I'd normally enjoy if it weren't for the dire situation. Fingers shaking, I manage to sterilize the area around the gunshot wound.
"Hand me the suture kit," I growl, trying to keep my voice steady. Constantino places it in my outstretched hand, and I begin the delicate task of sewing up the torn flesh.
"Keep that pressure steady," I remind him, gritting my teeth as I concentrate. Why did it have to be me doing this? Why did I have to get mixed up in their violent world?
"Done," I announce after what feels like an eternity, snipping the thread and tying it off. I can feel sweat dripping down my back, but there's no time to rest. I need to tend to the second guy before it's too late. I shoot Constantino a glare as if to say, 'You owe me big time for this.'
"Move on to the next one," I direct, my voice tight with stress. The second guy looks like he's barely holding on, his bloodshot eyes pleading for help. He's fallen down the wall and the man named Seb has helped to lay him down onto the floor. The bullet wound is dangerously close to his spine. One wrong move and I could paralyze him.
"Seb, hand me the forceps," I demand, my hands slick with blood. He fumbles in the med kit before passing them to me, his face pale and pinched with worry.
"Constantino, hold his head steady. This has to be precise." I can't help but let a bit of anger seep into my voice; after all, this is his fault. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be in this mess, and probably neither would these men.
"Got it," Constantino replies, positioning himself behind the injured man's head. I can see the strain on his face, and I know he's trying to hide his own fear.
"Okay, here goes nothing," I mutter under my breath, steeling myself for what I have to do. I carefully insert the forceps into the wound, biting my lip as I feel the cold metal against warm flesh.
"Almost there," I whisper, feeling the bullet with the tips of the forceps. I can tell that it's lodged deep within the muscletissue, and I need to be careful not to cause further damage. With a slow, steady breath , I grip the bullet firmly with the forceps and begin to extract it. The man's body twitches in response, but Constantino holds his head steady while Seb watches with bated breath.
"Got it," I say finally, pulling the bullet free. It's a small, mangled piece of metal, now coated in blood. I toss it aside, not wanting to look at it any longer than necessary. "Now, let's get this wound closed up."
I quickly stitch up the second man's wound, my hands moving with practiced precision even though my heart is pounding in my chest.
"Alright, that should do it," I announce, cutting the last suture thread. I glance over at Seb, who looks like he's about to collapse from relief. "Keep an eye on them. If you notice any changes in their breathing or anything else amiss, come get me immediately."
"Of course," he replies, nodding vigorously. "Thank you."
I stalk toward the bathroom, needing to wash away the blood and grime from my hands and clothes. As I scrub my skin raw under the scalding water, I can't help but feel resentment toward Constantino for bringing this chaos into my life. I don't want to be a part of his world, and yet here I am, saving the lives of his friends.
But as much as I hate to admit it, there's also a small part of me that feels proud of what I've just done. I've saved two lives today, despite the difficult circumstances. And even though I'm furious with Constantino, I know deep down that I couldn't have just walked away and left these men to die.
As I continue to scrub the blood from my hands, I wonder how much more of this life I'll be forced to endure. How many more times will I have to save Constantino and his friends from their own violent choices?
And even scarier, will there come a day when I won't want to walk away anymore?
As I stand in the bathroom, water still dripping from my hands, I hear the door creak open. Constantino sidles in, holding a bundle of clothes – a sweatshirt and sweatpants that are clearly his.
"Thought you might want something to change into," he says, offering them to me.
"Thanks," I mutter, snatching the clothes from him and turning my back to start changing. My anger bubbles beneath the surface as I pull on the oversized sweatshirt. It smells like him, so I try not to breathe the scent in too deeply, because I know what it does to me. "By the way, I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" He scoffs, leaning against the doorframe as if he's trying to block my escape. "I'm not going to let you leave."
"Excuse me?" My voice raises an octave, incredulous. "You lock me up for a day, drag me into your fucked-up world, and now you won't even let me go home? Where the hell do you get off thinking you can do this to me?"
