TWO
1050 Words
~Malrik~
I was going to die in a forest.
How poetic.
The king of the mafia underworld . The monster they said had no heart, reduced to a twitching corpse in a rotting box on some nameless land.
I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I crossed the estate’s border. My skin started burning from the inside out. The air tasted wrong. Thick with iron. Like blood soaked deep into the soil.
But I didn’t turn back. Not with this much blood already lost.
I’d been shot twice. Once in the shoulder. Once near my ribs. Silver rounds. Special order. Expensive. Designed for things that shouldn’t exist.
They knew what I was.
The deal went south fast. Ambush. Double-cross. My men scattered like leaves in a storm.
I barely made it past the gates. I didn’t even know whose territory I’d crossed. I just knew the second the blade pierced me that I’d made a fatal move. I didn’t have time to care. If I stopped, I’d die.
I might’ve started hallucinating. Maybe it was the blood. Maybe the pain. But then, I saw a building. Small. A shed.
I bled my way through three miles of woods before I reached it. Hidden between oak trees. Half-rotten. Forgotten. Perfect.
I collapsed through the door, tore off my jacket, and pressed the lining to my side. It wasn’t enough.
I’d never healed this slow before. Whatever was in those bullets wasn’t just silver. Something old. Cursed. Designed to stick.
I leaned back against the door. Every breath was jagged. My vision tilted and blurred.
So this was it. Not a battlefield. Not my bed. A forgotten, termite-riddled shed in godforsaken territory.
I needed blood. Real blood. Not rats. Not scraps. I needed time, safety, and silence.
I got none of that.
Shuffling. Inside.
I hadn’t found the strength to move, but I heard it. Someone was in the shed.
I gripped the blade in my hand and tried to strike as I pushed the door further open — but I fell forward.
The blade sank into my stomach.
"Fuck."
I snapped my head up, vision tunneling.
She was standing there.
A girl.
Pale hoodie. Too big for her frame. Bruised face. Blood on her legs. Hands trembling like leaves in a storm.
Her eyes went wide when she saw me. I saw the exact moment fear froze her body.
Ruby red eyes.
“W-who are you?”
I didn’t answer.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then backed up slowly, as if pretending she hadn’t seen me.
Smart.
I saw her eyes twitch. She wanted to run. I could smell her panic. Her heartbeat thundered like war drums.
But she didn’t scream. She didn’t bolt.
Then I saw the shard of glass embedded in her ankle.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Who are you?” she whispered again.
Wrong question.
"I'll die if you don't help me," I said. Voice flat. Breath shallow. "You're the only one here. You don't want a corpse in your shed, do you?"
She froze. Her eyes darted to the mattress I’d slumped against, blood already soaking into it.
“I don’t know you,” she said. Still breathless. “You could be an enemy.”
I smiled through the pain.
“I could be.”
I let the silence stretch
.
I was watching her too closely now. The limp. The bruises. The bandaged thigh.
She didn’t live a soft life.
This girl had been bleeding long before I ever stepped through her door
.
“You should leave,” she said. “If they find you here, they’ll kill us both.”
Ah. They.
Don’t tell me she was in the wrong territory too. Or did she belong here?
She didn’t wear arrogance. No perfume. No makeup. No diamond chains or silk like the mafia women in gold-plated cars.
She was too careful.
“You’re hiding too,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Her eyes snapped to mine.
“You’re not going to die,” she whispered. Like she was convincing herself. “I can’t let you. If they find your body here…”
“They won’t,” I cut in. “But I won’t survive the night without help. I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care whose land this is. I’m bleeding. I’m dying.”
She stepped back.
Good. She wasn’t stupid
.
But she paused again. Eyes flicked to the blade on my stomach.
Then she looked at my hand. Bloodied. Shaking.
“I don’t have medicine.”
“I don’t need a doctor. Just bandages. Pressure. Rest. That’s all.”
She hesitated. I saw the war inside her. One part screaming to run. The other part knowing she’d already seen too much.
“I can’t be caught with you,” she murmured. “I’m already... already in too much trouble.”
“Then walk away.”
She looked at me again. Really looked
.
Her lips parted.
Then she limped toward the door.
I couldn’t let her leave.
I reached out and grabbed her wrist. Pain surged through my body.
“Wait.”
My lungs burned. My ribs screamed. I tasted blood.
She paused.
“If you walk away,” I said, “I’ll die here.”
Silence
.
Her breath hitched
.
“Good,” she whispered.
She turned the latch
.
Panic roared in my skull. I didn’t beg. But I was bleeding too fast.
“Help me,” I growled. “And I’ll give you anything.”
She stopped.
“What will you give me?” she asked quietly.
“You save my life,” I rasped. “You name the price.”
That made her still.
She exhaled slowly. Shoulders dropping. Not surrendering. Just tired.
Without a word, she dropped a pouch beside me. Bandages. Half a loaf of bread. Something wrapped in cloth.
Then she knelt. Pressed the bread to my lips.
I didn’t have the strength to refuse.
She was quiet. Methodical. Like she’d done this before.
Too many times
.
She unwrapped my jacket, eyes narrowing at the clean cuts through the blood.
This wasn’t her first time cleaning up a mess.
Who the hell was this girl?
Another problem.
Another liability
.
Exactly what I didn’t need.
- Writer
