The Besotted

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I'm still shaken by what could get somebody this badly banged up and still have the nerve to say it's just a scratch.

Just a scratch, my ass. Death is tekateking next to him, and he's trying to make himself a starring.

It's horrible, that dimpled face is all swollen, bruised and covered in blood - some fresh, some crusted - body all black and blue with cuts and blood as well..

What happened? How does such even happen?

I don't even know what to say to him, how to react. We're not cordial enough for me to enquire about what in the fuck happened to him. I don't know where that boundary lies. If it were Zayn, then yeah, I'd jump into immediate action, but this one... how.. what am I supposed to do?

His face is swelling more and more, and I worry about that more than I worry the dark purple marring his right ribside. He might lose a few marbles from a hit to the head or die. I'm good with either. He's an ass.

Yet I find myself getting one of the chairs from the other side and having him sit before he keels over right in front of me.

He groans softly in immense pain as he takes a seat. He tries to hide it, but there's no hiding this... looking like you got hit by a train and six busses.

"Should I call anyone for you? An ambulance?" I dare offer against my better judgment.

"No, don't call anyone," He grimaces, feeling his back with his fingers.

What does he mean?

It's just me and him in this big black suite, and I'm not a doctor. This is nothing like my baby being sick or my mom's condition, I have
enough experience dealing with those, but I've never had to watch a man die.

My breath is shaky from the shock I'm keeping from taking me over completely, "You should definitely see a doctor though," He's a mess I'm not sure I can help with.

"I told you it's just a scratch," but he's grimacing and clutching his side in pain.

I'm dying to know what caused this damage. He doesn't strike me as the man to go around starting fights. He looks like the sort to pay other people to take the punch for him.

"Your nose seems broken," There's blood there as well.

"Wouldn't be the first time," He feels around his nose with his fingers before returning to his ribs.

"And at the very least, you bruised your ribs."

"It's more of a dull ache. You get used to it."

That's a no to getting any help then.

"Look, I just need a couple of painkillers and a shower," His voice is strained, "You just go about... your day."

He gets up, fumbles. Almost trips. And catches himself right before I can.

I flinched right into his personal space so close that I can feel his ragged breath through his chest.

Just as quickly I move back and set about putting my trembling hands to good use. I'm scared he'd just switch off any second. He'd be dead if he fell just now. He really looks that bad.