Stalker's Tango

9: You Wish You Were a Doctor (Not Really)

【ωαяиιиg】: Excessive Swearing, Excessive use of the word "Fuck(ing)", Bullying someone's appearance (still very warranted), Many mentions of blood and injuries

A/N: I drew Jean (Beep) from chapter 7! What a sweet boy 💙

sɪᴍɪʟᴀʀɪᴛɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴs ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄᴏɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ.

♪───Ｏ(✿◍•ᴗ•◍)✧*Ｏ────♪

Getting to the apartment was faster than you anticipated. As much pain this person was in, it didn't seem to hinder him that much. The smell was starting to get to you, though. The smell of blood and something unrecognizable, probably his internal (external now) organs.

However, there was one thing you totally forgot about.

Your three dogs, and the new kitty, Baby.

You hear the dogs whimpering loudly through the door as you two reach it. You're fumbling with the keys for a moment, saying "Back up, back up!" loud enough so your himbos can hear you.

Swinging open the door, you fumble to turn on the light, repeating the same command as before so they don't even get a chance to crowd you and the ugly man. The man tenses up at the sight of your huge dogs, which is expected especially since they seem so curious about his arrival.

You almost want to leave the man on the couch, but you need actual space to start your shitty attempt to stabilize him. So, you make a beeline to your bedroom. Getting inside your room, you immediately close the door so your pets can't get in. You mourn your bed sheets and mattress while helping the man lay down.

"O-Okay. Okay, just..." You rub your cheek, not caring that you smeared this man's blood on you, "Let me get my kit. Don't go anywhere."

"Yeah..."

You feel sick to the stomach: "Oh shit..."

Looking at him properly now in proper lighting, you finally start to feel yourself shake from the situation. He looks worse in the light, both his face and his condition. The organs are starting to turn another color from being out of the body, and the blood is escaping him at a rapid pace. How this man is still even alive is a miracle, but that won't last long if you don't move.

It seems all the moving has exhausted him, barely holding on to his guts anymore.

You hurry to your closet, swinging it open and desperately look through the boxes you have. You pull out a huge first aid kit you bought a while ago, but never needed to use it until now. Also, you grab two random black shirts, momentarily mourning for them before getting up..

Rushing to the bed, you drop everything but one of the shirts on the floor and rush to the bathroom. You don't even bother to turn on the bathroom light, opting to just turn the faucet on and leave the shirt under the warm, running water.

"Are you still alive?!" You ask frantically, running back to the bed.

"Ugh..."

"I'll take that as a "barely.""