Most of Reyna's life has been dedicated to helping people but what happens when she's the one in need of help?
After a one night stand with a dangerous criminal that results in an accidental pregnancy, Reyna is forced to run to protect her child fr...
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My breath gets caught in my throat when I really take in the sight in front of me.
Anatoly is putting his full body weight against the door frame, barely able to hold himself up straight. He's clutching his stomach, his hands bloody and bruised. His shirt is covered in blood, his weakened hands are doing little to stop the flow of it from exiting his body.
He stumbles forward and I'm harshly snapped back into reality.
I wrap my arms around him. He hisses in pain when I put additional pressure on his wound.
I slowly lead him further into my living room and guide him onto the floor.
I hold onto his gushing wound and weigh up my options.
"How bad is it?" Anatoly asks quietly, lifting his head to try and see.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, avoiding his question because it's bad.
"Fix me." He lays his head back against the floor. His gaze is now directed at the ceiling. "Please." He whispers.
This feels a lot like him putting his trust in me.
He's trusting me to save his life.
Now would be the perfect opportunity to strike a deal, my help in exchange for his but the words seem to get stuck on my tounge. I can't bring myself to do it, it feels wrong to bargain with his life.
"My medical kit is upstairs." I state.
"I would offer to get it for you," he says, breathing shallowly "but I don't think I'd be much help in my current state."
"I need you to put your hands over your wound, just as I'm doing now. Do you think you can do that?"
"Sure, why the hell not."
"Ok. Are you ready?"
"Yes." He whispers.
I move my hands and his quickly take my place.
"Fuck that hurts." He mumbles.
"Good."
"That's harsh." He grits out.
"If it doesn't hurt then you're not applying enough pressure." I say.
I grab a throw blanket from the sofa and bend to hand him it.
"Take this."
"I don't want to stain it with blood." He says.
"It's fine, I can buy a new one or you can buy me a new one. I don't care, it's a fucking blanket." It's probably already covered in blood from my hands.
He takes the blanket and presses it against his wound.
I can see that he's struggling to stay awake which makes me hesitant to leave him.
