Blood & Bruises

Dizzy

>>Izel

Seth walked into the room, he moved with a quiet confidence, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as if the world were always pressing down on him. He took off his gloves and placed them on the free bed, but he didn't have his usual smile on his face, rather, he looked a bit upset.

His steps were heavy and I could tell just from looking at him that he was more bruised and battered than usual. He had that look—eyes slightly narrowed, jaw set tight, like he was holding back more pain than he'd ever admit.

But I didn't ask him why.

I'm not trying to get close to him, I just want to feed myself and do my job.

I was already setting up my supplies when he entered, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. "Take a seat," I said without looking up, gesturing to the chair in front of me. My voice was brisk, professional—like I hadn't noticed the way he was moving a bit more gingerly than normal, or how he winced slightly when he turned his head.

He sat down, his large frame dwarfing the chair, and finally, I looked at him. The injury on his cheek was worse than I'd imagined. The skin was swollen and discolored, an angry mix of deep purple and red spreading across his high cheekbone. The impact must have been severe, and it looked like several blood vessels had burst under the skin, creating a dark, almost mottled effect that spread out in a jagged pattern. The bruising crept dangerously close to his eye, the skin there looking tender and inflamed.

Leaning in closer, my brow furrowing as I examined the damage. "You really took a hit this time." I couldn't help but say it.

He gave me a small, half-hearted smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Comes with the profession," He replied, his voice low and steady. "Nothing I can't handle."

I reached for a clean cloth and soaked it in antiseptic, my eyes still on his cheek. "Hold still," I instructed, pressing the cloth gently against the bruise. Even with my careful touch, I could feel the heat radiating from the injury—an angry heat that spoke of swelling and broken capillaries. I began to clean the area, wiping away the sweat and grime, making sure not to press too hard just yet.

But as I worked, I could feel Seth's gaze on me, that familiar intensity that always seemed to linger whenever he was in my chair. He was quiet, but there was a weight to his silence, a heaviness that settled in the air between us. I tried to focus on the task at hand, on the deep bruising and the small cuts near his cheekbone, but it was hard to ignore the way he watched me—like he was waiting for something.

I was just about to ask him if he was feeling any dizziness or blurred vision when the door burst open again, and two workers staggered in, struggling under the weight of another man—a boxer, the one Seth had knocked out. His body hung limp between them, his head lolling to the side, a nasty gash on his forehead oozing blood down his face.

They laid him on the bed in the corner, and I felt a twinge of something low in my stomach—a mix of hunger and anticipation that I tried to swallow down. I glanced at Seth out of the corner of my eye. He was still watching me, his expression unreadable, but I knew he hadn't missed the way my attention flickered to the unconscious man on the bed, even for a second.

I forced my focus back to Seth, but the scent of fresh blood was thick in the air, metallic and warm, and it was making my head swim.

I gulped, then pressed the cloth against his cheek again, this time with a bit more pressure than necessary, feeling the bruised skin give slightly under my fingers. Seth hissed softly, his body tensing, but he didn't pull away.

Oh shit, I should be careful.

The workers left and I tried to focus on Seth again when I felt dizzy, my world spun and I started falling down toward the ground.