𝐌𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳. Even being born right next to the cruel and sick crime life never changed the charismatic and positive Mia who wanted to help change the messy world she formed part off.
Becoming a nurse at the age of 25 and joining her d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(Au. I will listen to this while listening to Daylight by David Kushner)
It took all my strength to be able to let go of him, I feared he would disappear into thin air the moment our bodies lose contact but I had to when I heard his soft winces of pain. He was hurt and suddenly all I cared about was taking care of him, my need for comfort didn't matter anymore.
"What's wrong?" I ask slowly giving a step back so I could look at his body properly and assess the damage.
"My leg, it's fucking killing me." He mutters looking down at his left leg.
"Let's go sit down. Think you can walk to the room if I help you?" I ask moving to the side and putting my arm around his waist.
"I think so." He nods placing his arm over my shoulders so he can use me as leverage.
Slowly we get moving and even though it's pretty hard since he is much heavier and taller than me we make it work and eventually get to his room. Once there I help him down to sit on the bed and kneel in front of him so I can take a proper look at his lower leg.
"Do you want me to help you remove the prosthetic or do you want to do it yourself?" I ask as he removes his pants.
"You can do it." He rests himself back against his arms over the bed and I nod putting my hands on the protective sock.
Carefully, I start to peel it off him and instantly notice the redness and blisters over his limb. As expected the skin is really irritated and there's also a good amount of inflammation.
"Joder," Carlos whispers to himself when he sees the damage. (Fuck.)
"I know it doesn't look good but it could have been so much worse believe me. I'm going to lather some pomade over the blisters and bandage it up. It should heal in a few days." I explain getting back on my feet and walking towards the bathroom.
Opening the cabinet under the sink I take the box I keep here with everything I could ever need and go back to him. Looking around it I find some anti-inflammatory pills and hand him one.
"Ibuprofen, you can take it," I tell him straight away knowing he will ask.
He still won't take any opioids or morphine-based stuff, weed and tobacco are as far as he goes. I think I have never even seen him drinking something alcoholic. He takes it really seriously, sometimes too seriously but knowing his family's past I can understand it so I stopped putting pressure on the matter a long time ago.
"Thank you." He takes it and swallows it down.
"So... what happened? I ask kneeling once again and taking some bandages out of the bag.
"I-." He stops looking between me and his leg. "I kind of got arrested."
"What?!" I ask in shock. "What do you mean you kind of got arrested?"
