Chupacabra | 18+ | ✔️

▪︎■ 14 ■▪︎

▪︎■ Adrin Bianchi ■▪︎

It was remarkable, really... Life goes on and on, day after day while you can be so sure of something. You're sure you would hardly- if not never- change your mind about it. But let any incident happen and everything can be different in a single heartbeat.

I like to refer to this moment as the one that broke down my stubborn mind. And the car's glass window. Which was painful, considering the glass shard inside my body.

The car ride was silent. I knew I was hurt but I had been through worse. I had to look after the wound, but she was looking at me from the corner of her eyes.

"Take a picture," I said, knowing she would stop irritating me with her gaze and she did look away after rolling her eyes once.

Good. Now I could take a peek at my torso. The shirt was red where the shard dissapeared into the flesh.

Shit.
Not really what I needed right now.

My gaze was on the road, trying to put my thoughts in order.

We could have gotten killed. If she wouldn't have used the grenade, I would have probably been dead by then. If I wanted to admit it or not- I owed her my life.
I could count on one hand how many times someone rescued me and it had always been myself, without any exceptions. Until now.

I sometimes caught a glimpse of Moreno while I was driving, gaze switching between her and the road. I relaxed a little, forgetting about the pain for a second. Her features were tense, as if it all wasn't over for her. She was so focused on her thoughts that she didn't even notice the cut on her forehead.

"You're bleeding," I said, watching her and remembering the details of her face.

"What?"

"You have a cut on your forehead," I clarified.

"Yeah?" she asked, not caring.

Whatever it was that made me do it- I really didn't know- but I slightly leaned over to her, reaching out my hand. I carefully used my thumb to swipe away the droplets of blood.

What the fuck was that? What am I even doing here?!

"Good shot, even if it could have been earlier," I said, mocking her.

"Smart ass jerk..."

I did something I didn't do since a long time. I laughed quietly.
I was about to remind myself that she was still just a piece to find Jiménez, but her smile silenced my inner voice.

Fuck, that might have been worth the embarassment.

"Where are we driving to anyways?" I asked. Her smile dropped instantly with something she seemed to remember.

"My place."

I nodded, not asking any further because of her short response and the physical pain that became very present in this moment.

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We had reached her home in no time. Not because the way was that short but rather because of the speed she forced on me.

I parked in the driveway, she was almost sprinting outside, stopping halfway to turn around to me. I tried to get out of the car but struggled with the glass that pierced through my flesh with every movement. I groaned with the upcoming pain.

When I heard footsteps coming towards me, I looked up to meet her gaze. The hint of worry in her eyes almost made me cringe, because I didn't know what to do with myself.

"Shit! How long have you been covering this?!"
She supported my weight with an arm around my back.

"I'm fine."

She huffed.
"You are not fine, dios mio. Stop pretending you're some kind of immortal hero and cut the bullshit. Come inside and I'll take care of your injury."

If I do that, there's no going back... I know myself good enough to be sure that I am fucked if I let her take care of me.

I knew it. I knew I would probably be vulnerable, hurt myself, promise my inner child something that was completely made up and far from reality.

I was about to decline but a sudden gut wreching pain rocked through my body and took the opportunity. I groaned lowly, squinting my eyes together.

When we arrived inside the house, I knew I was completely lost. There was no going back.
Not even my sarcasm could safe me now, the pain definitely added to that.

She walked around the room, collecting things here and there before she returned. I watched her kneeling down between my legs.

My first instinct, after she pulled out the knife, should have been literally any alarming reaction. Adrenaline, panic, distrust, paranoia, the need to get a weapon myself... But nothing happened. I only watched her, cutting the fabric, the blade dangerously close to my skin. I wasn't worried.

Her hand was cold against my bare chest, lightly touching me. I watched her, gulping, however her gaze was fixed on the injury. How could a cold touch leave a hot feeling? A burning stayed on the trail her fingers left on my skin.

The softness of her movements let my heart flutter. I almost groaned because I knew I fucked up. But probably also because it felt damn good and it definitely shouldn't.

Her breathing hitched when she let her fingers glide along my muscles for a short moment. It was almost not noticable. Almost. I nearly grinned but decided to keep a straight face and focus on not getting turned on with her slightest touch.

Moreno stood up, walking through the room to a mini bar. She grabbed a bottle and came back to me, handing it to me.

"You will need it."

I drank and enjoyed the hot burning down my throat. A few minutes that felt like hours passed while she was preparing the needle and other stuff she needed.
I couldn't help but wonder where she learned to do all that. Or why she had to learn it.

I didn't care about her telling me it would hurt. I didn't care about the painful stinging of the alcohol, the pain when she pulled the glass out of the injury. And it wasn't the alcohol's fault. It all just did not seem important. The only thing on my mind was her.