"Puppy."
"I am serious, Emiliano!"
The hell, I am.
I am not going to jump into the traffic just to punish a psychopath.
But Emiliano needs my flower. So it’s the only card I can use so far.
God knows he’ll catch my bluffing soon enough.
"It’s not as bad as it looks. I promise!"
"His whole face rottened! His teeth were lting!"
"I can explain!"
"What could you possibly explain about this?"
Emiliano sat down hard, his back to a low tangle of branches. His coat was soaked, clinging to his leg where the blood wouldn’t stop. He pressed both hands over the wound, breathing through his teeth.
From a distance, it looked performative.
Like he was trying to get my sympathy. Like he thought sitting there would slow down.
A bad actor I might add.
I watched for a second longer, just long enough to see the blood gush between his fingers — thick, dark, pulsing. He wasn’t faking anything. That stab had landed deep.
But could soone like Emiliano really feel pain?
He had chased through the hallway, the forest. Limping. Dragging his leg. Still trying to catch .
And for what?
To sell a story and an act?
He just followed.
Even now, he wasn’t yelling. Wasn’t begging. Just sitting there, holding his thigh like he could will it shut.
He looked pale. Sweating. His lips tight, eyes pinned on like he was still hoping I’d turn around and walk back.
Like he still believed he could fix this — both of us, maybe.
I wanted to scream at him. To run again. But my legs had started shaking. Not from fear, not anymore. Guilt was heavier. Hotter. Like it’d been waiting to catch up since the mont I stabbed him.
Damn, I’m pathetic.
Having pity on a degenerate that lts teeth as a hobby!
I stared at Emiliano — the blood, the pain, the stupid stubborn look on his face — and felt it punch through my chest. I’d run from him, like always, but he still got hurt trying to reach .
And he still hadn’t let go.
I turned my head away.
"Enough with the theatrics already."
"What’s your plan, Luther?"
"Why does everything have to be planned?"
"Because you are the most wanted person in the country right now!"
"What can I say? Personality matches the looks. Can’t help but be popular!"
"This is serious! I am trying to protect you!"
"No! You are using my blood to torture people and call it science! You at least had the decency to pretend you do it for the greater good in the beginning, but there is no greater good in that!"
"All great societies are built on genocides!"
"Oh, please. You are not in a war with anyone! You are not doing anything else than playing doctor with poor lower-class ogas! F-ck you and your society!"
"You an it?"
Emiliano looked hurt for a second — just a flicker. Then it was gone. His face went still, cold. Blank in that way he got when he didn’t want to know what he was thinking.
"I do."
"Think it through, Luther."
"I did."
"If you go now, puppy, our marriage will end right here and now."
"What marriage? I am not your wife! Or your puppy! Or anything to you! You are the guy that kidnapped , starved , cut open and used . And I am the moron who fell for you enough to actually think you might be a human being! Not even a good one! Just not a monster... but I was wrong."
"Are you not in love with anymore?"
"Why would that matter? I won’t let you tornt anyone anymore with my blood! Not as long as I am alive!"
"Then I’ll just kill you."
"What?"
"There is enough blood in your body to finalize my study. I don’t need you alive anymore. Your flower is withering anyway. You’re useless to now."
I swallowed, trying to steady my breathing, but it didn’t help.
What he said shouldn’t have hit that hard — but it did. The words dug in deeper than I expected. I didn’t even try to push them away. I just stood there, staring at him, feeling the heat rise behind my eyes before I realized I was crying.
The tears ca without warning.
No sobbing.
No sound.
Just a slow, steady trail down my cheeks.
I wiped at them once, then gave up. My chest felt tight. My arms were heavy. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t even blink.
His face was blank, almost too still. The pain I thought I saw earlier was gone. His expression was hollow now, drained of everything — anger, guilt, sadness.
Whatever was left, he’d buried it. His eyes looked glassy, not from tears, but like he wasn’t really looking at at all.
Like he was staring through or past or into nothing.
F-ck.
This was really the end.
I should feel happy.
I should feel released.
So why?
Why does it hurt so much?
Fine.
You know what? Fine.
I don’t believe you.
I stepped closer, barely breathing, until my face was just inches from his.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
I reached down and took his hands — still warm, still slick with blood — and lifted them to my throat. His fingers curled on instinct. I pressed them there, guiding the pressure just enough to feel it. His hands trembled, but he didn’t pull away.
I kept my eyes on him, searching for anything behind that blank stare.
Nothing. Just glassy eyes and a body running on habit.
"Do it then."
He didn’t move. Despite his gaze fixating on mine, I don’t think he really saw either.
"Do it. F-cking kill and get this over with!"
We stayed like that for a few monts.
His hands stayed on my throat, warm and shaking, until the strength left them.
Then they dropped.
Slowly.
Like even that motion took effort.
His eyes, once sharp and gold, looked dull now. The color faded from them, washed out by the tears slipping down his face. He didn’t wipe them away.
Didn’t speak.
Just sat there, breaking apart in silence.
It was the first ti I saw Emiliano cry.
It was probably the first ti he did.
It took a lot for to break the invisible leash he had wrapped around my neck. But I got up and left. As painful as it was.
Love is not an excuse for killing people.
I hitchhiked the first car I saw and got in.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I had Emiliano’s sobbing ringing into my ears from miles away.
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