My Little Moon - 𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗌

46. pray tell

Blood. A lot of blood.

Luis couldn't stop staring at his hands after what happened. They were clean, showing no signs of dirt nor stain that stayed on his very own fingertips. But by gods, the imagery held on permanent.

Seeing her, on the ground, bleeding intensely, was enough to make him stand still. As still as Catrina was, on her hospital bed.

His eyes were wide, his hands gently shook. Remembering how he held the young girl in his arms, seeing her get taken away from any forms of life, scarred him deeply. No amount of good memories can pull him out of his dreadful reverie as he sat there on the many lined up chairs of the hospital.

Matthew was beside him. What was once a man of humor, became a man whose sorrows reached his other brothers. He couldn't take his eyes off of the blank, white, hospital wall. No sign of glee swam in those dark eyes of his.

Michael was pacing around the hallway. Phone in hand, he never stopped dialing the same two numbers he knew. His lips trembled as he muttered the horrific details of the incident through the other line. Michael's voice wavered. It wavered word per word while he stole glances on his other brothers until he had his gaze locked on the room number.

The eldest Manotoc had his back against the wall. As much as Borgy tried to be the strong, older brother for everyone. . .even he, failed to wipe away the worry on his face. Beside him was Amaris. All quiet and jittery. They couldn't leave her alone with the helpers back at home, she was still their responsibility after all. Both of them.

The gore held everyone in a chokehold. She looked fragile at that very moment. Like a broken glass of red wine, she too, spilled red all over the floor. Thick coats of blood it was. . .and no matter how many times the nephews tried to forget, it was never going away.

Michael approached the bunch. They could see how white his knuckles were clutching the device.

"Papunta na sila." Was all he said before plopping himself beside Matthew. It had been an hour and a half since they brought Catrina here.

An hour and a half and yet, not a single doctor came out of her room. Not a single person came up and told them that she was fine.

They didn't know which one's worse. The anticipation of waiting. . . or the thought that they were waiting for nothing.

Their silence was accompanied by pagers, and other nurses walking along by, doing their own job. The soft hum of a nearby air conditioner, the gentle ticking of a clock, and muffled chatters reached their ears.

Their concern had no voice but it was much more stronger than any sound that filled the halls. Each of them muttered a silent prayer, though, Amaris couldn't care less.

So long as she wasn't caught, she was in no harms way. She pulled off such great acting earlier, she can just do it again. Amaris silently mocked their idiocy of believing her lies. She relished at the fact that this whole ordeal was worth it, and that she was getting her share of money soon.

After all, she was considered far too young to be in jail. She could get away with anything.

Everybody turned their heads towards a set of shoes padding quickly towards their direction. It echoed around the halls until it stopped right at the front of the room's door.

The nephews met gazes with Irene's distraught ones. Her disheveled hair, red-rimmed eyes, and unruly shirt told each of them the whole story. Irene had been worried sick the moment she picked up the phone call from her nephew. It was vague, but it was enough to put her into a spiral.

No words were exchanged whilst everybody could only observe her in pity as she paced back and forth. Irene didn't dare cry. Everybody needed her to be strong, and knowing the young girl, Catrina would greet them soon.