Page 146 of Morally Corrupt

I can't even bear to spare a glance to Bianca, knowing that once I see the state she's in, my heart will break. We sit in silence for a while, and I'm getting progressively more concerned that she's not saying anything. I'm even afraid to ask her if she's all right.

"I'm fine," she finally utters the words I'm dying to hear. I close my eyes and take a big breath.

She continues, "Really. You should have seen how many I took out." What? Is that what she's concerned with now? Does she think I care how many people she killed?

"You fool…" I mutter, and not being able to help myself any longer, I grab onto her arms and drag her towards me, hugging her close, more for my benefit than hers.

"You fucking fool… how could you even think to do this?" Pressure builds between my eyes, and I hold onto her even tighter.

"Ah," she whimpers, and I'm jolted back to reality. Is she hurt? What's wrong?

"Shit. Are you okay? Where are you hurt?" When she's not replying to my question, I look for myself, surveying her clearly swollen cheek and internally wincing.

I continue to probe at her, almost wrenching the jacket off her shoulders in my attempt to look for further injuries.

She stops my hands and removes the jacket herself. But when I see that her dress is torn in the middle, her breasts hanging out, her entire upper body bruised, I lose it.

"Tell me nothing happened," I beseech her, already feeling myself spiraling into the what-ifs. "Please tell me nothing happened to you." I don't know what to do anymore. I feel so helpless, seeing her in this state and knowing I did nothing to stop her. I hold her close to me, and I rock back and forth with her.

"Nothing happened. I promise," she whispers, but I don't believe it.

"You're sure?" I cradle her head between my hands and look her in the eyes, praying she's not lying to me. "Don't ever do that again. Ever… You have no idea what hell you put me through, B. Please… Never again." I implore her at this point, but I don't care. The thought of losing her… I can't even contemplate that.

"Yes, never again," she assures me, but I don't know if I believe her. "Promise…" She trails off, and I feel her drop, limp in my arms.

"B?" I ask tentatively, and when she doesn't answer, I shake her. "Bianca?"

"… stop… tired… sleep," she mumbles incoherently, and I let out a deep sigh. She's fine.

I then notice the blood on her arm and the gaping wound right below her shoulder.

Shit.

I carefully place her in her seat, buckling her seatbelt, and then I drive back to our motel. It's not entirely easy taking her inside, especially with all the blood. I try to cover her as best as I can with the jacket she's wearing, and I proceed to carry her inside.

When I reach our room, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of pure relief. I put her on the bed and make another trip to the car to take the shopping bags, feeling extremely satisfied with myself for having the foresight to plan ahead.

I undress Bianca, and with a wet cloth, I clean her body, feeling a little bit more comforted when I see the paint coming off her skin.

So, this is what Vlad meant when he told me about her preparation. When I've washed her from head to toe, only a couple of real bruises are left. I apply some pain-relieving ointment to those areas, and then I focus on the wound on her shoulders.

The wound is pretty deep. I bathe it in saline water, and then I apply superglue to hold it together until we can get a doctor to look at it. I pinch the skin so that the glue takes and then hold it.

Bianca winces once or twice in her sleep. Once I'm satisfied with the glue, I wrap her arm up with a clean bandage.

Sitting on the floor, I unscrew a bottle of water and take a few gulps.

I keep staring at Bianca's sleeping form and debate how to move forward.

She arouses so many emotions in me that I can't think straight… Not when she's risking her life and putting herself in harm's way. Those hours spent in my car, following the movements of the watch's hands, were the most terrifying of my life. The worry and the countless what ifs… I don't think I ever want to go through that again.

I also realize that for all the heartache she's caused me, I can't have her out of my sight. I'd surely go crazy wondering if she's taking other unnecessary risks. And then there was the moment in the car when I'd seen her so worn out but still smiling at me.

That's when I knew I could never let her go…

I comb my fingers through my hair and let out a frustrated groan.

I'm an idiot. I know I am.

---