Bullet wound

Corleone’s pov

It’s been three days. I haven’t seen Martil. No calls or text messages. As many times as I wanted to drop him a message, I decided against it by swiping off the message box each time.

I sighed. Being home alone was quite terrible. I did nothing throughout today being a Sunday. I moved around the entire house, navigating through all the parts of the house that I hadn’t seen or the one I hadn’t been in.

I ate, drank, watched videos, sat by the pool and did different kind of nonsense. It was past six pm. I didn’t sign for all of these boring moments when my mom insisted we should move. Now, she didn’t even have my time anymore.

I didn’t know when I slept off on the couch. In about thirty minutes, I started hearing some kind of grunts that felt like it came from my dream.

“Who is there?” My eyes snapped open.

A dark shadow struggled to get into the house, locking the door as he sauntered against the opposite couch. It looked very familiar but the dim light didn’t allow me make of the person very well.

“Martil?” I called.

There was only a grunt that sounded like he was in pains. No reply at all. He groaned, adjusting on the chair. He relaxed his head on the couch.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “You have been gone for days. Is this your normal routine?”

“Where is dad and your mom?” He asked without answering my question.

I rolled my eyes, standing up. “They are probably gallivanting around somewhere in the city.”

“Hm.” Martil groaned again.

I turned to glance at him. “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t reply. He simply pulled off his shirt with another groan. That was when my eyes caught it. A wound that was bleeding severely.

“Jesus, Martil!” I rushed towards him. “What’s this?”

He groaned again, licking his lips and grabbing his shoulders. He was obviously in pain. And I wasn’t liking it at all.

“A bullet wound.” He said,

“Where did you get it? How did it happen? Where are you coming from?” I asked him multiple questions as I tried not to touch the wound.

Martil shook his head. “Get me a first aid box.” He ordered.

I sprinted into a run immediately. I searched my mom’s room. Liam’s room was locked. But I couldn’t find anything anywhere, not even a common cottonwool or bandage.

“There isn’t any.” I rushed back to the living room.

He scoffed, struggling to stand up while I volunteered to help him even though hundreds of questions were running through my mind.

I wondered where he got the wound. Who shot him? Did he involve himself in a fight? What kind of fight? Why did he allow himself get shot?

“Can you drive?” He asked, leaning slowly against me.

I offered to help him out. “I can’t drive.”

That was a big loss. My mom’s fault. I should have. I wanted to but my mom wouldn’t agree. Now, look at where it is needed.

“What should we do now? Where are we going?”

“My apartment. For a first aid box.”

I almost let out a sarcastic laughter. In the entire house and large rooms, there was no first aid box. Rich but no sort of emergency.

We dragged ourselves to his car. I assisted him in sitting in the driver’s seat. After pushing him in and almost closing the door, I turned to the other seat, about to sit.

“You don’t need to come with me.” He said,

“Excuse me?” I had already sat down. “Will you step on the engine or should I drive us myself?”

We were definitely going to end up in an extra accident. So, he better drive.

Well, he didn’t bother to argue. He just hit the wheel and drove out of the compound. It was the same way he probably drove in.

Blood was dripping down to the seat. There were two visible bullet wounds. I wasn’t sure if that was all the wounds he sustained but one was by the side of his stomach and the other was on his shoulder.

I removed my jacket, thinking of how to stop the bleeding as he was driving with his right hand while his left hand was pressing against the wound at the side of his stomach.

I didn’t think. I pulled off my tank top. Martil’s gaze turned towards me sharply. He stared at me. I felt hot instantly but I tried to ignore it.

I put on the jacket, fixing the only button that could hold it together at the middle. I folded the top and pressed it against his stomach wound.

Martil groaned slightly when I pressed. He took the whole charge of the wheel, increasing the speed.

In a few minutes, we got to his apartment street. I got down quickly and proceeded to help me. We moved straight to the house.

He used his thumb print and the door clicked open. I helped him in while the door closed on its own. He settled on the couch.

“The third room. Check the second drawer. There is a first aid box there.” He pointed.

Quickly, I headed to the room, kneeling beside the drawer. I pushed it open and there it was, the blue small box.

I hurried back to the living room and sat in front of him before opening the box. My jaw dropped open when I saw the items inside.

Scissors, pins, different shapes and sizes of scissors that didn’t make sense to me. There were also short bandages and cotton wool.

“Give me the short curved scissors.” He said,

I pulled it out and stretched it to him. “Here.”

He collected it and opened the end. He dug it into his shoulder, groaning while turning his face away. I squinted, feeling like it was being done to me as he dug further into his flesh.

He clipped it in and pulled it out slowly, dropping it against a small metallic plate in my hands. There it was, a small bullet.

Something I had never seen in my entire lives. I rarely even watched those kind of movies.

Seeing these, the realization hit me. Martil may be more than what I think he is.