The Enemy

Chapter Eleven

~Samora~

He opened the office door before I had time to even knock on it. He stood looking like he just saw a ghost but the look disappeared as fast as it came. He's really good at hiding what's he's thinking but he's not as good at hiding his surprise as he thinks he is. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his torso was riddled with blood. He a gun shot wound on his shoulder and multiple stab wounds across his torso, the deepest one being just above his V-Line. I gasped silently and had to resist the urge to touch him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here" he said moving slightly to the side to let me in. I knew that already so I didn't waste my time responding to that. I initially came here because I was overly excited about my new found freedom and i now had the time to pursue whatever it is I could with him. I wasn't sure what I wanted at first but when I walked through the front doors I decided I would figure out what I want once he clarifies what he meant by he understands my predicament. I wanted to know what predicament he was referring too and what it is he thinks he understands about it. I also wanted to know who he thinks he is to even assume I had a predicament. I understand he's an observant person but that doesn't give him the right to assume anything about me that I myself haven't even disclosed to him.

But once I saw his predicament-pun intended- I wanted to know what happened and why he didn't bother going to a damn hospital. I turned to look at him and saw that his stab wound was bleeding profusely. "What happened Matteo? Why aren't you at a hospital?" I have a shit ton of questions but I wanted to start with the two that were more important. Grabbing his hand I pulled him into the bathroom and begin to rummage through his cabinets looking for a first aid kit. I didn't see one so I walked back into his office to get the whisky. Alcohol serves as a sufficient disinfectant for open wounds so it will have to do. He was sitting on the toilet with his back against the toilet tank, his head thrown back and his eyes closed he almost looks peaceful. If he's in pain I cant really tell. I didn't say anything as I begin to pour the whisky direct onto his gun shot wound. His eyes snapped open as he grabbed my hand to stop me. He gave me a look that would kill me if it were possible and it was in this moment I realized that he is indeed in pain. "Let me go" I say calmly snatching my hand away from him. I don't have to say it but if he doesn't want to die he has no choice but to let me help him. I take my shirt off and grab my pocket knife out of my back pocket. I cut my shirt in half before wrapping one half around his shoulder. I soak the other half in whisky then press it firmly on his still bleeding stab wound. "Hold it, you have to put pressure on it. I'll be back in two minutes. Do not move" I say as I grab his hand for him to hold the shirt into place. He still has the bullet in his shoulder and he need stitches. I have what I need in my car. If he asks why I have it I'll just tell him I'm planning to be a doctor or some shit.

I ran to my car which I parked out front to get my 'just in case' bag. It has sutures and a needle in case I have to stitch myself, antibiotics to prevent getting an infection in case I end up somewhere secluded and can't patch myself up right anyway. Numbing cream because I hate the stitching needle and being shot already hurts like a bitch. Gauze to stop bleeding and for wrapping up my wounds, in truth I have more gauze in here then anything else. A knife and a torch lighter, in case I have to cautarize anything. In most cases cautarization is the best method. I always seem to find myself in a damn shoot out and have to hole up in a corner somewhere to get myself together. I have six syringes with numbing medicine because sometimes the cream just isn't enough. I also have adrenaline. I haven't had the need for them but you just never know. There are other miscellaneous items like alcohol wipes, gloves, iodine antiseptic and a small jar or vaseline. I have to be prepared for any and everything at all times.

After getting my bag I ran back upstairs. Only to see Matteo sitting at his desk drinking. Is this man seriously immune to pain. I didn't say anything to him I just walk over to him and take the cup from his hand. He glared at me but didn't say anything. I kneel down in front of him and take the bloody shirt off of his wound. Putting on a pair of gloves I grab two packets of alcohol wipes a new needle and a pack of sutures as well as a syringe of numbing medicine. I reach to wipe the area around his stab wound so that I could numb him before giving him the stitches. He grabs my hand before I come into contact with his skin. "What the fuck are you doing Samora" it's the first thing he's said to me since I first came into his office and I just roll my eyes at him before I try snatching my wrist from his grip. "Stop grabbing me like that. I'm trying to save your life you fuck tard. You're still bleeding." I say after successfully snatching away from him. I look at the stab wound and much to my dismay it hasn't stopped bleeding. It hasn't even slowed down. I put everything away and grab the knife and the torch lighter. I look at him as I start to heat the knife. His eyes was getting droopy and he looked like he was about ready to pass out. Grabbing the whisky I poured it into the stab wound in an attempt to wake him up. It didn't work. He didn't even flinch. "Matteo you have to open your eyes." I say slapping him in his face a little bit. I just need two more minutes before the knife is hot enough to singe his skin. He didn't budge. I poured liquor into his trash can deciding to start a small fire but a fire bigger than the lighter so the knife could heat up faster. Lighting a piece of paper from his desk on fire I throw it into the trash can and watch as everything in the can burst into flames. I balanced the knife on the side of the can with the blade hanging over the flame then stood up to stand over top of him. His eyes were closed and his once tan skin was starting to turn pale. His body was slumped backwards and  dare I say he truly looked like he was on the brink of death.