Guilty Conscience ~ Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 9: Heartbeat

WARNING:
The following chapter of Guilty Conscience contains graphic depictions of injury and blood.

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"Abbacchio! Abbacchio, please answer me!"

The cold rim of the bathtub pressed into Y/N's stomach as she sat on her knees, trying to get an answer from the bloodied brute. She shook his shoulders gently, hoping that his eyes would soon open, but all that she received was his half-dazed stare. Questions tingled at the tip of her tongue like foreign spices; she wanted a taste of some sort of answer but knew that if Abbacchio didn't get medical attention soon, she could kiss all of her questions goodbye. She needed to see him alive. Needed him to open his eyes and look at her. How did he get here? What happened? Who did this to him?

Strands of Abbacchio's once lilac hair swam over his shoulders and across his face. The soft locks were stained a deep shade of red, and Y/N couldn't help but worry that he received an injury to the head. She sent her shaking hands to meet his scalp, still calling out for him.

"Abbacchio please, I need you to talk to me! Or at least look at me."

The eyes that Y/N thought she'd grown familiar with were gone. In their place sat a set of pale yellow irises. With no hints of mischief or curiosity within, he stared blankly at the door behind Y/N and out into the empty hallway.

Y/N's fingers danced in Abbacchio's hair. It was so soft, which was strange for her. She'd never met a man who took such good care of his hair. But she'd also never met a man with golden eyes or purple lipstick. Or a man that was bleeding out in his boss' bathtub.

Y/N continued to call out his name and continued to let her fingers explore his sweat-soaked scalp. She knew that if he were conscious, he wouldn't be letting her drag her hands over his head and tangle her fingers in his thick lilac-locks. But he wasn't conscious, and for every second that her fingers were still laced in his hair, Y/N's heart sank a little deeper.

When she found no injury, Y/N carefully laid his head back, setting it agaisnt the cool rim of the tub. She blew out a sigh of relief. But he still wasn't responding to her, and Y/N was being to feel nauseous with worry.

"Abbacchio, I really need you to talk to me right now," she clasped his cold cheeks in between her warm palms. His face felt like ice in her trembling hands, and the panic that had ocne been sitting in her stomach began to creep its way up to her throat. "Please! Come on! Just look at me! Please!"

His glassy eyes rolled back. Blinking twice, his pupils focused and trailed the length of Y/N's face. His lips twitched, but his mouth did not open. He wasn't dead. But he also didn't look very alive either. With his blood-soaked hair and his paling skin, the man looked more like a walking corpse than a living being.

"You're awake," she whispered more to herself than to the man before her.

Abbacchio's eyes swam around the room and then darted back to her. The gold was still gone from his stare, but he had finally responded. Y/N laughed in relief. She'd never been so happy to see the brute staring back at her before. But when his eyes moved to look at her hands, the hands that she was cupping his cheeks in, she stopped laughing and sat back from the tub.

Y/N breathed in deeply and took in the state of his injuries. He had been wearing a long, dark purple, lapel-less overcoat, with a single strand of lace to cross over his bare chest. Though, the coat had been shredded with many long, deep tears, letting streaks of his pale skin show through the fabric. A barrage of fresh cuts marked the upper half of his chest before disappearing beneath the tattered fabric he wore. Y/N winced as her eyes scanned over his torso, exploring all of the marks that had been left on him that early morning.