18 He Can't Die
1363 Words
I hadn’t closed the window, and the gentle breeze was a good way to get rid of the bloody smell in the room. I turned the bedside lamp down to the lowest setting, moved the clothes rack to the window, and lit two scented candles from the bathroom.
The clothes hanging on the rack could prevent my shadow from being seen on the curtain—something Elena had taught me.
I checked on him. Though he had cuts on his arms and back, the worst injury was the one on his abdomen. Blood kept seeping out, soaking his shirt in that area.
I climbed on a chair to grab the first-aid kit from my dad's study, then found some scissors in my room. The next step was to cut his clothes open.
He was half-unconscious by now, the blood and his pale face giving him a strangely fragile beauty. A mix of strength and vulnerability showed on his face.
I cut along the edge of the bloodstains, opening up his shirt. His defined abs and V-line came into view.
The hem of his white shirt was a mess after I cut it open, but it worked. Following the line of his neck, I could see his bronze chest.
The injury had drained so much of his strength, and a thin layer of sweat covered his muscles. This was my first time facing a man's bare body like this, and the way his chest moved with each breath made me too nervous to look for long.
The wound on his abdomen was exposed, and it looked slightly better than I’d expected. But it was still a gunshot wound, not like the regular injuries we dealt with during cheer practice. Ordinary painkillers wouldn't do much.
I'd never dealt with a wound like this before, so I needed to wake Marco up. Maybe he could give me some guidance.
I grabbed a wet towel from the bathroom and gently wiped the sweat and blood from his face, as well as the sweat on his body. Like this, he looked even more dangerous than usual, yet somehow impossibly attractive. I couldn't help but run my hand over his abs—it felt as good as it looked.
"Have you touched enough?" A weak voice came from above my head.
His voice was usually low and raspy, but the weakness now made it even more tempting. I felt my entire face flush with heat.
“Well, since you’re awake now, I don’t have to keep trying to wake you up,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I don’t know what to do—do we need to get the bullet out now?”
I realized his words were probably meant to ease my fear, but besides the fear, there was mostly worry.
I had never been in a situation like this before.
Marco's POV
Those bastards dared to ambush me. David led our men to escape the main force, while I managed to get back under cover of night. But I took a hit in an alley.
Turns out that group had teamed up with mercenaries. I thought I had taken care of all of them, but there was still a sniper left. He shot me.
He didn’t live much longer after that.
I shouldn't have come home at that point. I knew that, by mafia rules, they wouldn't hurt my innocent family, but I couldn’t risk them breaking the rules. I couldn't stand the idea of anything happening to Harper.
Then David called. He told me every hospital and private doctor in the city was being watched. If I showed up, I'd walk straight into a trap.
Damn it!
I had no choice but to come home. And just as I expected, there were people lingering near the house. I used my last few bullets to take them out. I barely managed to open the door and lock it behind me.
The living room was dark. No one was there. Was I going to die here?
In that darkness, I caught a hint of a light, floral scent. It kept me conscious. Not far away, I saw her shadow.
But she didn't see me. I pushed myself off the wall and walked up behind her. I didn't mean to scare her, but she jabbed me with that bat.
She’s really learned a lot.
Even in that moment, I had the urge to laugh. Her face was wet with tears, her hands trembling as she held the bat.
She left me on the steps, and I thought she was planning to leave me there to die.
But then she grabbed my hand, half-dragging, half-carrying me up. Her body was so small, but she had such strength.
My head was right by her neck.
She probably didn’t know, but I was like a madman, greedily inhaling her warmth and scent. She finally laid me down on her bed. Everything kept going dark. Seeing her panicked expression, I used the last of my strength to tell her not to call anyone.
I didn't know how much longer I had. If I died, it was God's will. But I couldn't let anything happen to her.
If I made it through, Harper, I hope you can forgive what I’m about to do.
Harper's POV
He looked terrible.
I realized that I might be a little squeamish around blood. Maybe it was the sheer amount of it—my brain couldn't handle the smell.
I patted his cheek lightly. “Hang in there, Marco. This is going to hurt. If it’s too much, bite down on this towel.”
I placed a towel in his mouth to stop him from biting his own tongue.
To make things easier, I tied up the hem of my nightgown, then straddled his waist, kneeling on either side of him.
I started by cleaning the wound and the surrounding area with alcohol. I knew it hurt—his abs jerked in response.
I grabbed his hand with my right hand. "Marco, it’s almost over. Just a bit longer.”
But I knew it was only going to get worse from here.
He didn’t say anything, but sweat soaked his hairline, veins bulging on his forearms, and his chest muscles twitched. I knew he was trying not to scream.
My eyes burned with tears, but I held them back and used a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.
The first-aid kit had everything I needed. Thankfully, there was also some topical anesthetic in there. I wasn’t sure if it would help much, but I hoped it would ease the pain.
I put on the disposable gloves and spread some of the anesthetic near the wound, fighting the dizziness and nausea while I used the forceps to search for the bullet.
It wasn’t too deep, but I didn't have the courage to dig it out. Every surgeon knows that performing surgery takes an immense amount of focus.
And I was just a high school girl who didn’t know how to do surgery. What I had already done had nearly drained me. I could feel my emotions teetering on the edge of collapse—I couldn't handle the consequences if something went wrong.
"Mm... mmph..."
His muffled sounds reached my ears. He had the towel in his mouth, so his words were indistinct.
His deep eyes, now tired, held something soft—like understanding, or tenderness.
I wasn't sure what he wanted, so I pulled the towel out of his mouth.
“Give me the knife,” he said.
I handed him the knife I hadn't dared to use. He disinfected it, then looked at me. “Harper, close your eyes.”
I closed my eyes, but moments later, I heard him gritting his teeth in pain. I opened my eyes immediately.
He was cutting his own wound open!
It felt like all the blood drained from my body. It was my first time witnessing anything like this. Blood poured out even faster.
“You need to use the forceps to get the bullet out,” he said.
“You want me to do that?” I asked, horrified.
- Writer
