“Will you talk now?” Elijah asked me, wiping the blood from his eyes.
Scared to see the splatter of red colour all over his face, I told him, “You’re injured. We should get you treated first. I don’t want your wounds to get infected.”
“Wounds? Oh, I see. You’re willing to talk to me on account of the injury that you believe I seem to have. Doesn’t that mean that you still care for me?” He insisted that we start a conversation.
“Don’t work yourself up. You’re hurt. Let me get your wound treated,” I was baffled to see him being calm with that much blood on his face.
A smile came over his lips as he declared, “You need not worry about me.”
“Why? It doesn’t matter what you did to me. I always prioritise life over everything else. I need to get your wounds cleaned up before they get i
