This Is Why I Don't Socialize
This world has a sick sense of humor.
He’s a criminal.
He should know that whenever you get stabbed, you don’t ever pull the sword out. Blood would pour out more. It keeps the blood inside of your body until you get medical attention and whatnot.
And now he’s awake. Just sitting on the couch as if nothing happened, sipping on his vodka, and ignoring his chest pouring blood out like a fountain.
Sam is worried.
“We need to get you to a doctor, Trace.” He said.
“We have to-”
“I’m afraid of the nurses.” Trace shivered.
Is he kidding?
" Are you kidding?” Sam said in disbelif.
“I’m not! They always seem so nice and sweet, but theyre manipulating you! Devils in disguise.”
I walk over and snatch the bottle away from his hand.
“You’ve just been stabbed and in five minutes you’ll bleed to death, but a nurse scares you?”
“You know, I owe it to Muscles. I’d buy red pijamas from now on. It looks better on me. Really brings out my eyes.” Trace eyed the huge bloodstain on his purple nightgown, ignoring my question.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a troublesome goddamn elbow, we would have easily put him down together!” I snap.
He’s trying to joke around, but he is blurring his words together, and grunting every time he moved. His body is shuddering after every move. He’s in visible pain. He just decided to not care about it.
I am not putting up for this.
He then looks up at me, electrifying blood-red irises flashing with amusement. His eyes are intimidating. Too intimidating. I can’t look away.
“Yeah? Red clothes match me, right?” He surpasses a smirk.
“You need a first aid kit.”
“You need to stop acting like my mother.”
I open my mouth in disbelief. Oh, hell no, he didn’t just say that. He did not compare me to his mother right here, right now, and when I haven’t even had one hour of sleep.
“Seriously? You’re almost half-dead and you still manage to piss me off?”
He laughs, crooked teeth flashing.
“Girls, girls, c’mon. Let’s not pull each other’s hair.” Samuel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Shut up, Enderson. She’s just jealous of me being so nonchalant about it. When has she ever seen such courage? Such beauty? Must be a shock to her, poor sap.”
“I think it’s cowardice,” My voice trembles. “To not care about your injuries, thinking it will all go away if you put on a sorry excuse of a clown show and act all nice and breezy when you can barely hold your pathetic sobs, more or less the people who love you worry about your well-being seeing you like this. But who am I to care? Not that I am one of them.”
That wipes the smug smile right off his perfect face.
“Hey, that’s not—” He starts, but I cut him off.
I raise my chin up, try to put on a brave face. I really need to stop talking to him and take a breather. But his voice still draws me to him like a magnet. I anticipate what he has to say next, but Henchman walks in and drags me out of my trance.
He’s scurrying towards Trace, holding a white rectangular box with a red plus sign in the middle.
First aid kit.
I take a steadying breath.
Good. Very good.
I lock eyes with Samuel, and he’s giving me the look that clearly says are-you-okay-or-do-I-need-to-punch-him-in-the-throat, and I can’t help the corner of my mouth tugging in a small smile for him.
“Sam, if you’ll excuse me. I’m extremely tired.” I say to him and watch him nod, but I still see the worry on his face.
As I turn on my heel, I take a steadying breath and go to my room, feeling both Samuel and Theodore’s eyes burning holes on my back.
My hands are still shaking.