Cross My Heart (18+)

Puzzle

The Diablo hopped off the stage of the ring, a bit less bloody than last night. His eyes held sheer darkness, resembling the abyss of the ocean or obsidian rock. His eyebrows were pulled down, his chest barely heaving despite what he had just done. It seemed to me that he was immune to doing this to others. Hell, he had probably already taken the lives of hundred others. However, my curiosity had grown from what Axel had just said to me — what had these men done so wrong to be in this position?

My heart nearly stopped as I saw The Diablo walking towards us — his eyes running over me momentarily. I looked downed at my clothes, nervously crossing my arms. It was only for a split second, but it felt like eternity as he looked at me carefully — almost analytically. I inhaled sharply, trying to think of other things to calm my beet-red face.

"He just looked at the new girl, like, full-on." I heard an obnoxious whisper from beside me. My face and ears only felt more hot, now. I looked down at my trembling hands, blindly following Axel and the rest of the crew into the back room. Mr. Sanchez patted The Diablo's back, probably a little too hard considering his intense injuries. However, he didn't seem to mind. Mr. Sanchez discreetly whisperer something in The Diablo's ear, just making him grunt and nod in response. I soon realized that I had never actually heard this man's voice.

As we entered the back room, the same thing that happened last night happened again. He sat on the bed, his wounds exposed, with his eyes directed towards the wall — looking cold and emotionless. At this point, I was considering the thought that he was a robot solely made for fighting.

"New girl, you go again. We'll find up with the cleaning, but you have the best suturing skills out of all of us." A nasally voice said behind me. I wanted to yell, "I have a name!" But instead, I bit my tongue. It was imperative that my attitude was tamed whilst in this environment. I nodded and gave an insincere smile, one she didn't seem to notice.

I approached The Diablo, pulling latex gloves over my slightly shaky hands. I took a deep (but inaudible) breath, removing some of the ripped stitches gently with steel tweezers. I made sure to never touch the wound, and work slowly. Even if he didn't express that it hurt, I knew it had to. I lifted my head from his torso to view my work on his upper abdomen, tilting my head to make sure it was even and fully sewn.

When I was doing this, though, I could feel his gaze burning into me. For just a second, I made eye contact with him — something I promised myself I'd never do, because of how frightening he is. His eyebrows were still tightly pulled together as he looked at me. Seeing his face up-close only made me realize his beauty more. How could something so beautiful be so terrible?

I felt him continue to stare at me as I moved to the fresh lesion on his chest, making me feel irritated and flustered. After a few minutes passed of my hands shaking due to his intense gaze, I snapped.

"Can you please not stare at me?" I asked, my arms up in confusion and defeat. I hadn't realized what I said and the sassy tone of it until the words poured from my mouth. My eyes widened in panic, realizing that I could very well be killed right now. My legs began to feel like noodles as he stared at me, still no emotion on his face.

I ignored the whispers around me, still staring at him in response. Our eye contact was almost too intense to handle. His full lips parted momentarily. Oh God. I braved myself for the impact of a hit, a punch, or even a bullet from Mr. Sanchez, but nothing happened. After what felt like an eternity, he raised a curious brow at me, his lips contorting into a smirk.

I felt the tight pressure in my chest release by just the tiniest fraction, I wasn't going to die. I huffed as the others in the room began to chuckle, all except the girls. Mr. Sanchez's laugh was loud and boisterous. Had this man never been scolded in his life?

I continued my work, but I knew The Diablo was sneaking glances at me. There was absolutely no point in trying to tell this man what to do. I finished as quickly as I could, pulling the gloves off my hands before disposing of them.

"Where did you learn do that?" A girl asked me, she seemed to be a bit younger. Why were they having children work in this environment? It nauseated me. I smiled at her, "My mother taught me. It just takes practice. I know this may seem odd, but practicing with a needle, thread, and a banana peel. It's the closest thing you'll get, and it'll just take time. You'll be great." With that being said, I exited the room, and began walking back to my apartment.

The walk was short, but my mind was racing. Why had The Diablo been staring at me? Why wasn't he so violent towards me? Why was it funny to everyone else when I snapped at him? Why was he so cold? What had he done to land himself in the rings?

He was a puzzle that my mind yearned to put together.