Dirty, Dirty Liars [Mature/Editing]

[31]三 十一

TRIGGER WARNING: The following chapter contains descriptions of blood and sad things.

___ 

Ryuzo. Bleeding.

I ran to him, fearful tears filling my eyes. "Baby," I could barely get out a whisper. With shaking hands, I peeled back the layers of his kimono and checked his wound. The large gash just below his ribcage was clean through and through, blood spilling with every labored breath he took. I placed his hand over it again quickly, applying pressure. "You're okay. You're okay," I told him.

He had lost a frightening amount, but bodies held a lot of blood. I had seen patients bleed out before, and it was a far more horrifying amount than this.

He wasn't dying. I could do something.

Ryuzo looked at me with wet eyes and a pleading expression. "Mina, you have to leave."

"No," I snapped, then pulled my cardigan off, tearing off a sleeve with adrenaline-fueled strength.

"Mina." He tried to stop me with a hand. "They're still here."

I had been ignoring the voices and occasional screams coming from the adjacent room. Since I saw Ryuzo, nothing else mattered to me. History would not repeat itself. Not with me. Not with him.

"What did I say? You don't get to tell me to walk away from the people I care about, remember?" I whispered with glaring emphasis. His brow creased deeper with his understanding. "I am not leaving without you."

I packed his wound with torn cloth and took the rest to wrap around his middle. The sound of close footsteps grabbed my attention.

In the doorway across the room from us, a shadowy figure moved. I waited, not breathing, just watching.

A man in all black walked into the moonlight, a katana in his hand, the blood-stained tip floating just an inch above the floor. With his next step, the light fell over his face, revealing the intricate leather mask.

It was the same as the one the guests wore after the party in Yokohama, a source of laughter the night Ryuzo returned with literal blood on his hands. Standing in a room of bodies, there was no humor in that demon's face.

I pressed my back to Ryuzo's chest, shielding him from view and from whatever might happen. The man's face turned toward us.

My heart pounded, but not in fear. The only visible part of his face were hollow, dark eyes. I stared him down and shook my head, telling him not to try anything, silently warning him not to come for me, not to make his problem bigger by killing a gaijin. But he stepped closer.

I braced myself over Ryuzo. Unblinking, the tears streamed down my cheeks as I accepted the end of my journey. The possible painful end of my life.

He stared at me for what felt like a minute, then turned and walked away.

I blinked in confusion, but didn't waste time on another thought. Turning back to Ryuzo, I wrapped the rest of the ripped cloth around his waist and pulled it tight, making him groan in pain.

"You have to stand," I told him sternly. He looked at me with a face of sorrow, but I wouldn't accept it. "You can do this. You have to. For me."

I swung his arm over my shoulder and pulled him up to his feet.

My hand over his wound, my legs numb as I supported as much of his weight as I could, I took him from the room and down the short hall. Getting outside rejuvenated my hope, even when more of Ryuzo's weight fell on me and his steps fumbled. Only a few more steps.