Chapter 4 - Not-so-dead houseguest.

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

The world came in flashes, everything was blurred and sounds that stretched too long or cut too short.

My mouth wouldn’t work, my fucking body wouldn’t move. My tongue was heavy like I’d been gagged, drugged, drowned. I tried to speak but nothing came out only a cracked exhale.

Where the fuck am I?

A ceiling that wasn't mine. It was stained with a water mark near the corner. There was a plant hanging from a hook. What the fuck kind of place was this? It wasn't a hospital because it was too quiet.

But someone drugged me, they fucking drugged me like hell.

There was pain... burning, dragging, twisting pain in my gut and shoulder. Even under the blanket of drugs, it pulsed like a second heartbeat.

They didn’t finish the job.

Cowards.

I could still feel them. The faces covered with masks, the heat of the bullets and the cold metal pressed to my ribs before I snapped his wrist. The taste of blood.

The blur of the hallway walls as I ran, before it all slipped.

And now this.

There was movement.

It was too soft to be a threat.

Bare feet, the brush of fabric. Then there was a presence, and it was close. I blinked through the burn in my eyes as a shadow shifted beside me.

Hair.

Her.

That girl.

That girl with the shaking body and those big sun-like eyes like she’d never seen blood before.

There was a cloth, it was cool on my face. It smelled clean, and gentle. She touched me again but it was barely a graze.

Fingertips on my forehead.

I should’ve moved my head away but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even raise my arm. I wasn’t in my skin, I was hovering over it, watching her cradle what was left of me like I was glass.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Safe,” she whispered.

No one’s safe. Not me. Not her.

Especially not her.

She was in over her head. I saw it in her eyes. The moment I collapsed in her hallway. She was terrified. And now she’s... here. In reach. So close.

Was she fucking stupid?

The pain surged and my jaw clenched involuntarily. It felt like my guts were being chewed from the inside.

I tried to speak but I couldn't even move my tongue let alone my lips.

Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

I’m going to kill them.

Whoever set that up and whoever pulled that trigger and whoever gave me drugs, every single one of them is going to bleed for this.

I just need to get up.

I just need to move.

Just—

“Shhh,” she said.

The cloth again. A stroke over my temple. I wanted to swat her hand away, grab her wrist, bark at her to stop touching me like I was some stray in her bathtub but my fucking fingers wouldn’t respond.

She was saying something else. I caught pieces of it, something about fever, pain meds, not out of the woods and I needed to rest.

Fucking poetic.

She didn’t sound scared now, not exactly, nervous, yeah, soft, yeah, but not scared.

The bed dipped and she moved. I felt the shift, she was closer now, breathing slowly. She whispered something about being nearby if I woke up scared.

I don’t get scared.

I just get even.

There was a cat somewhere. I heard it. Purring and the girl talked to it. She called it Flan.

The fuck kind of name is Flan?

My mind was slipping again. Heat crawled up my neck. The sweat soaked through the gauze at my side. My ribs ached. I wanted to sit up and I wanted to fight someone.

Instead, I turned my head, it was barely an inch and saw her.

She was curled on the floor, and there was a bright yellow blanket over her legs. Her hair spilled down, hiding part of her face. Her hand rested on the side of the bed... near mine.

Fuck, I was fucking broken everywhere, half-dead, and this girl, this stupid girl was guarding me with a fucking cat.

If they come for me here, they’ll kill her too.

I don’t know why that thought lodged in my throat.

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

I’m not saying I have bad luck, but the moment I walked into the pharmacy, a ceiling tile above me coughed out a suspicious puff of dust and something white and powdery landed in my hair. And not in a pretty, snowflake-slow-falling kind of way. No. It was aggressive, like it had a personal vendetta against me.

I stood there in the automatic doors’ path, blinking up at the ceiling.

A little old man shuffled past me with his newspaper and said, “You’ve got dandruff, lady.”

Brilliant start.

I shook myself off and marched on to aisle three to get the supplies.

“Right,” I muttered to myself, scanning the shelves, “I need... um. Gauze. Bandages. Alcohol. Antibiotic cream. Ointment. Stuff for gunshot wounds, oh God, do they even make gunshot wound kits?”

The woman stocking vitamins gave me a startled look, like I’d just admitted to burying bodies in my garden. I gave her a thumbs up. She did not return it.

I reached for the antiseptic spray, then froze.

Wallet. Money. Crap.

I dug through my bag and counted out my savings. I’d been quietly stashing money away, one coin at a time, for my next and last semester. But now I was about to blow half of it on gauze and antibiotic cream for a bleeding stranger.

I took a deep breath, counted the bills and when I reached the checkout, the clerk looked at me, “Someone hurt?” he asked.

“Oh! No! Yes. I mean, not me. Well, kind of, emotionally, always but no. It’s for... well. A friend. Acquaintance. A wounded man. He has very soulful eyes and didn’t murder me, so that’s already five stars in my book.”

The clerk blinked at me. I blinked back.

The man said nothing, just bagged my items slowly. I handed over half my sad little savings and tried not to wince.

Outside, the sky was a weird mix of lavender and polluted orange. It was that awkward time of day when streetlights flickered on too early and pigeons got confused. I hugged the bag to my chest and sighed.

“You’re doing the right thing,” I told myself. “You’re being a good person. You’re not enabling a fugitive. You’re helping someone who needs help.”

A seagull landed in front of me, eyed my plastic bag, and shrieked.

“Don’t judge me, Kevin,” I snapped. (I always call the rude birds Kevin. It helps.)

On the way home, I made a little detour. I stopped by Carlos’s place, my boyfriend and the love of my life.

I rang the bell and waited, the door flew open a moment later. Carlos stood there in a wrinkled T-shirt and messy hair, blinking at me like I was a ghost.

“Hi!” I chirped, “I was just, um, in the area and I thought, Maddie, your boyfriend hasn’t seen your face in four whole days and that’s basically a crime, so here I am!”

He stared at me, eyes wide like I’d grown another head. He didn’t even open the door fully to invite me in, he just slipped outside and shut it behind him.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck like it was suddenly itchy, “What are you doing here?”

I smiled brightly, “I brought snacks! And... oh, antiseptic spray. Long story. You won’t believe the night I’ve had. There was this man—”

he breathed out a sigh that made me stop, woah, was I bothering him?

“You look tired,” I said quickly, “Like, extra tired. You know what you need right now? A walk and a double shot espresso straight to the bloodstream. Anyway—”

“Maddie,” he cut in, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, “I just woke up and I need to be at work in an hour.”

I froze, brain doing mental backflips, “Oh my god. Right. Right. You’re going to work. Go! Shower, coffee, save lives, all that good stuff.”

He gave me a look.

I smiled, “Hero mode activated. I’ll just, um, leave you alone now. Let you... EMT yourself. That’s not a verb but I’m gonna go.”

He gave me a quick smile, “I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Sure!” I chirped. “Later is good. I’ve got… bandages to apply.”

I backed away, heart doing something really dramatic in my chest but I smiled anyway. He’d been working nonstop lately, saving lives, running on fumes, barely sleeping. I should be supportive, not clingy.

But... why does it feel like he’s about to break up with me?

Is it just me? Am I overthinking? Or did I ruin everything by being too much? Too available? Too... myself?

I bit the inside of my cheek, heart doing this weird slow-sinking thing in my chest.

I didn’t mean to mess it up. I just really liked him and maybe I got too excited.

It’s okay. It’s fine. Maybe he’s just tired. Long shift. Stress. Sirens and stretchers and all that EMT things.

I’m probably just overthinking it... right?

It’s stupid. I’m being stupid.

I picked at a thread on my sleeve, trying to laugh it off in my head, but it caught in my throat like a splinter as I walked back to my place.

𓎢𓎠𖦁‎𓎠𓎡

I dumped everything from the pharmacy onto the kitchen counter, gauze, antiseptic, pain meds, way more than I could afford and peeked into the bedroom.

He was still out cold, just like Jason said he would be. His breathing was steady, bandages were holding and he was still alive. Thank God.

My fingers were shaking as I picked up my phone.

I stared at my dad’s name for a solid minute before pressing call. The ring buzzed in my ear once and my lungs forgot how to work until it picked up.

“Alô?” his voice sounded uncertain.

My throat clenched, “Oi… It’s me,” I said softly, skipping my name.

Then there was silence.

“I don't know you, you have the wrong number,” he said.

My heart drowned in my stomach.

I scrambled to keep him on the line, “Wait—wait, please,” I whispered fast, curling into myself on the kitchen floor, my arm wrapping around my ribs, “Sorry, senhor, I just, are you okay? Is your family okay?”

I heard him sigh.

“I don’t know who you are. If this is another prank, chega. Enough. This isn't funny anymore, understand?”

His accent got thicker when he was scared, that’s how I knew.

I bit down on my lip to keep it from wobbling, blinking hard to push the tears back, “Desculpa, senhor. Sorry,” I said quickly, lowering my voice, playing along, “I must’ve dialed the wrong number.” I sniffled and wiped my face even though it wouldn’t help.

“Don’t call again.”

I heard what he didn’t say, they’re still watching. Still listening.

“Wait—I—”

Click.

Just like that, the call ended.

But I got what I needed, they were alive. They were still hiding. And Appa, he was still protecting me the only way he could.

By pretending I was already gone.

Sighing, I refilled the first-aid kit with shaky hands, gauze, antiseptic, everything in its place, even if nothing in my life felt remotely in place right now.

Then I tiptoed back into the bedroom to check on my not-so-dead houseguest.