The Manipulation Room

Chapter 13 - Promise Me

Manipulation Room victim no. 13802828
Name: Dante Skyler 
Age: 39 years old
Occupation: Journalist 
Family Member: 38-year-old wife, Sapphire  
Description: A laceration in the centre of the heart, inflicted by a knife of 8.25 inches. Instant death confirmed. 

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"Why didn't you tell me?" Ezra croaked, his lips encrusted in blood. I watched silently as he coughed up blood and pretended not to notice the crimson stain that was soaked into his shirt. It was a truly horrid sight. The cough sounded loose and wet, like clotted, congealed blood was sliding up and down his throat with each violent expulsion of air. I grimaced at the sound. "Please just go to the medical room, at least let me clean that up." I pleaded, pointing to the blood trailing from his nostrils.

He shook his head with utmost certainty, and shifted further up the bench we were sat on. I'd already begged him twice to get some sort of help for his injuries but he refused both times. He just sat, pulverised and soaked in his own blood. He looked like a corpse that had just climbed out of his own grave. His face bared congealed blood and his clothes were an utter mess. His arms were wrapped round his guts like he was holding them in and to be honest he was beat so bad he could have been. The shadows of the fight were on Ezra's skin and on his heart. The knowledge that I had lied to him would remain long after his skin and bones were healed. It was a sadness in his eyes, a heaviness, an unyielding sorrow that slowed his speech and robbed him of his once easy smile. The absence of his wonderful smile only made my heart ache more. There was a cut across his eyebrow that would probably need stitches, and a purplish bruise on frail arms.

"Please, Ezra. You're in a really bad condition." I begged, folding one leg onto the bench and shifting my entire body to face him. He wasn't paying attention. He was staring absentmindedly at the purple bruises I had on my wrists from where Maddox had held them. He coughed again, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. "Are your wrists okay?" He wheezed, breathlessly. I raised an eyebrow at him, "You have a cut on your eyebrow, your nose is bleeding, you have bruises everywhere and your coughing up blood. This isn't about me, Ezra." 

He sunk deeper into his seat, staring concernedly at me, "Are you sure your okay?" 
I nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine." 
He looked deeply into my eyes, for the first time since we'd sat down on the bench. His eyes reflected more pain than his open wounds; they were seriously damaged. "Why didn't you tell me, Lyric?" He asked, his voice hoarse and slow with the damage on his lower lip that made it hard to talk. I gulped, remembering the memory of my father's death. Why hadn't I told him? I wasn't really sure.

I shrugged, crossing my legs on the bench and pressing my back against the wooden arm rest. "I don't know. I just wanted to...to..." I stopped, swallowing down the tears that were forcing their way out of my throat. I didn't try hard enough. A silvery droplet trailed down the crease of my cheek, stopping at my chin. Ezra noticed this and scooted forward, grimacing with pain as he clutched his ribs. "Lyric..."He whispered, his eyes glimmering with concern. He put a hand against my cheek and wiped the tear away before moving his hand to my chin. "It's okay, you're okay." His voice was low and quiet, almost not there at all but somehow perfect. It was somehow soothing, like ice on a bruise.

It didn't stop the rest of the tears from falling though. When I cried there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. I clasped onto Ezra's arm, my whole body shaking. The sobs were stifled at first as I attempted to hide my grief, then overcome by the wave of my emotions I broke down entirely, all my defences washed away in those salty tears. "I...I just-I just...wanted to- to..." I couldn't even speak; overwhelmed by the tears raining down my face and the cries escaping my throat. I practically fell onto Ezra, my tears soaking his already blood-encrusted shirt. This shirt would need to be washed twice if there was any chance of wearing it again.