#BTS Blind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

btsuga-d · 6 months ago

Text

Can You See Me || Chapter II ʚɞ

↬ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ

𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝. 𝙸𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚕'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙴𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜?

↬ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ

𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙼𝚒𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒 𝚡 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝙾𝙲!𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙸𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚕

↬ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ

➤ 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔

↬ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ

𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔, 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝, 𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕, 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝙰𝚄, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚔𝚓𝚒𝚗!𝙳𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛, 𝙼𝚒𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙹𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚃𝚊𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚐!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗!𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝

↬ ᴡᴏʀᴅᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ

3.3𝚔

↬ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝, 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

↬ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 🌸 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚈𝚂𝙼. 𝚆𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒'𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. ��𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎. 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗.

↬ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ - 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯

ᴍɪɴ ʏᴏᴏɴɢɪ ʟᴇᴇ ɪꜱᴇᴜʟ ᴋɪᴍ ꜱᴇᴏᴋᴊɪɴ ᴋɪᴍ ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢ ʜᴏꜱᴇᴏᴋ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊɪᴍɪɴ ᴋɪᴍ ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴɢ ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

↬ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɪɪ

June 9, 2018

I pressed the elevator button with all the force contained in my index finger. I pressed it several times, just to make sure it got the message. The red number at the top marked that it was coming from the fourth floor. I tapped one foot noisily against the ground, trying to relax the nerves that were gripping my stomach. That wait was nerve-wracking.

My heart was pounding. What was I going to do if it was really him? What would I have done if I lifted that sheet and saw – no. I couldn’t even think about it. I pressed my head against the wall, my finger still pressed on the elevator button.

A ding and the doors swung open. I looked up and lost myself in two brown puddles, as deep as the ocean itself. A rather tall boy with brown hair slightly long at the back of his neck stared at me as if he wanted to pierce me through and through. Some wisps fell back in front of his eyes, making his appearance even more disturbing

I read pain in his eyes, a suffering that I could not have explained in words. I looked down and noticed that he had both forearms wrapped in gauze. His square face was clean, but he kept his mouth slightly slanted, his eyes fixed in mine. I found it impressive that he had not yet blinked. Like a predator stalking his prey.

Our exchange of glances lasted a few seconds, until the nurse who was accompanying him made her gaze wander from me to him.

"Do you know her?" she asked him.

The dark-haired shook his head, uttering a simple, deep "No." Then he added, still keeping his eyes on me, "And I certainly don't want to know her." His rough voice sent shivers down my spine. He passed me, brushing my shoulder with his arm. The nurse followed soon after and bowed her head slightly toward me, apologizing for her patient's brusque manner.

I didn't turn around to see where they were headed. Surely, I had more important things to think about. At that moment I wasn’t interested in the rudeness of a stupid little boy, even though he must have been about my age.

I slipped into the elevator and pressed the button with the number -1 on it. The doors closed and I saw the light fade. I wrapped my arms around my body as I felt the elevator begin to move downward. The darkness and the noise of the descent made me even more anxious. The cabin trembled slightly before stopping on the top floor and opening the doors wide.

I stood before a very long white corridor. The light was so bright that I had to close my eyes slightly to let them adjust again. I took one step, then another and another until I saw the “morgue” sign at the top of one of the doors. I reached out my hand, resting it on the handle. And I froze.

I didn’t have the courage. I was literally shivering. And not from the coldness typical of morgues.

I pulled back as if I had just burned myself, continuing to stare at the spotless wooden surface. On the other side of that door could be the answers I had been waiting for an entire year. Or at least some of them. I looked up again, but my hand had no intention of lowering that doorknob. I turned around, frustrated, and squatted on the ground holding my knees.

I was afraid of myself. Of how I would react. Finding out the truth was worse than believing the lie I had constructed for myself. The hope that my father was alive… That was the only thing that allowed me to keep fighting. That was all I had left. What was I going to do if it shattered? How could I be sure that I would not shatter as well? That was what I was afraid of. That I would never be the same again. That I would become my own shadow. That day, my life might have changed.

Maybe I would have done better to wait for someone to arrive. I wasn't sure I could stay there without a competent attendant. The girl at the front desk had told me she would send someone, but I had run off even before she could finish her sentence. Maybe, with someone by my side, I would regain my courage and be able to cross that threshold. All I had to do was wait.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, the notes of a piano resounded.

I lifted my head and turned my gaze toward the end of the hallway. A series of notes was pressed on the keys of a piano, spreading a slow, soothing melody. Between notes, there were moments of silence that accentuated the already gloomy atmosphere due to the rain and thunder. A flash of lightning lit up the sky and I stood up, walking the short distance to the brown door at the end of the hall. The melody continued to proceed in stages, almost as if it was adjusting to the advance of my steps toward the door.

I took a quick glance at the dusty sign placed on one side. Chapel. See a small church next to the morgue was nothing exceptional, but find someone inside was quite unusual. I pushed open the door to reveal two slender shoulders wiggling following the movements of his arms along the piano keys. He had very blond hair and wore a shirt that was white and neat, and above all, loose. So wide that the hem of the sleeves grazed his knuckles. A pair of beige pants wrapped his skinny legs, and on his feet he wore white tennis shoes.

I did not enter the little church, but decided to stay on the threshold. To observe it. The piano was an old brown model belonging to the French brand boisselot fils. It looked really old, but that guy had the ability to make the listener believe that the sound was coming out of a grand piano. I watched him until something changed in his playing. Now his fingers had picked up speed and moved from key to key with extreme elegance, brushing over them as if they were made of porcelain. I could not see his face, but I was convinced that his eyes were closed.

Then the melody slowed down again, until it returned to the series of notes from the beginning, always interspersed with a moment of silence, but one tone lower than the initial ones. He seemed to be reflecting. He was organizing his thoughts, asking himself questions, but unable to find an answer. The questions continued, but his frustration grew as the melody increased and grew louder.

I am angry. I am furious at the world, at those who made me suffer. I fought to the last, but my tenacity was not enough. I just want someone to listen to me, to hear my words full of anger and fear. Because I am afraid of being alone. Because I am afraid of falling into the void and never surfacing again. I am afraid of becoming someone I am not. Looking in the mirror and not recognizing my reflection. I am afraid of myself.

That was what his music was telling me. The thoughts were flowing as if he was directly opening his mouth to speak to me. It had never happened to me before, but his emotions ran over me like a flooding river. I stood in the doorway as my eyes automatically filled with tears. They began to stream down my face without my realizing it.

I could understand his pain. It was identical to mine. I could feel in him my own fears, my own worries. I could tell by the gentle touch that had been replaced with a firmer, more powerful one. Skinny shoulders wiggled under his white shirt; one foot pressed on the pedal while the other went in rhythm with the tune. His fingers began to slide from one side of the piano to the other with frightening coordination and speed, making the muscles under his semi-transparent shirt tense. His anger was rising, as well as the tone of the melody. By now he was at the mercy of his emotions.

I watched as he lowered his head slightly and saw gold earrings jingle from the purposeful movement of his arms. He almost seemed to be holding his breath, choking in his own anguish. I wanted to save him, to pull him out of that raging river and tell him everything would be all right.

I got chills when the music increased again, accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder that ripped through the sky. It was freezing in that room, but I saw drops of sweat that began to trickle down his temple, caressing the soft shape of his chin.

His anger exploded all at once and he stopped suddenly, keeping his fingers resting on the final chord. Then, as if he had left something unfinished, he resumed playing again. The bluish veins stood out on his white hands from the exertion. The rhythm had faded again and he returned to stroking the keys, but this time there was a bitter note in every note he touched. As if his inner debate had ended and failed. The result was still the same. Nothing had changed. His anger was still there, his hatred was still eating at him.

He lifted his hands from the keyboard, almost as if he wanted to leave the melody hanging. A sigh escaped his lips. He lifted one arm against the piano and rested his head on it, letting his damp blond hair brush against his wrist. He was out of breath, as if he had just run a marathon. Through his shirt, I could see his lean shoulders rising and falling.

Then, suddenly, he did a strange thing.

He stood up and picked up the can of gasoline that had always been beside the piano, but which I had not noticed since I had been too focused on him. He opened it with a single wave of his hand and began to pour the clear liquid on the piano. He filled its keys, wetting the wooden surface as well. Then, to my amazement, he began to slide it down his neck and onto his shirt, which immediately became transparent. It looked like he was showering himself with gasoline. I had never seen anything more disturbing in my entire life.

My heart lost a beat when he reached out to grab the small white lighter on the piano. He held it tightly between his fingers and brushed the movable top of it with his thumb. I still couldn’t see his face because his back was to me, but I was sure his expression said nothing good.

“Yah!” I squealed as I entered the room.

The boy turned sharply when he heard my shout, still holding the lighter up. I instinctively stepped back when I met his eyes. The frightened ones of the guy I had seen on the second floor? Or the deep, terrifying ones of the guy in the elevator? They were nothing compared to those who were looking at me at that moment.

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky and I could distinctly see those dark slits, outlined in black. Those thin yet so expressive eyes made me doubt that they were real. There could be no such intense, deep, menacing gaze. It was humanly impossible. He stood motionless watching me as he scanned my face, the lighter still in his hands.

I tried to reason with him; it was the only approach I could attempt.

“Please, put it down,” I pleaded him, pointing to the lighter in his hand. The guy didn’t flinch. He kept looking at my face as if his life depended on it. Only then did I realize that my cheeks were still wet from the tears from earlier. “Talk to me, will you? I don’t know you, but your playing really moved me. I-I am willing to listen to you, if you want.”

On his face appeared one of the most chilling grins I had ever seen. He finally lowered the hand that held the lighter, but he began to move slowly toward me. Reflexively, I stepped back. His steps were slow, heavy. He was not very tall, but because of that, beyond all logic, his figure seemed even more menacing. I stepped back until I realized that he had begun to increase his pace to catch up with me. Frightened by the hostile aura he emanated, I turned my back on him and began to run toward the open door.

I didn’t have time to cross the threshold that I saw a pale, thin arm go over my shoulder and close the door in my face. I dared not turn around, aware that I was trapped between his body and the door he was holding locked with the palm of his hand. I felt his warm breath on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine, right where his chest and my back had made contact.

“Turn around.” The tone was so low that I could barely make out what he had said. His voice was even lower and hoarser than the boy in the elevator. A chill caught me when in turning around I brushed against the arm he was holding up. “Look at me,” he ordered again since I was keeping my eyes down. In doing so, I couldn’t help but notice his completely soaked white shirt. The intense smell of gasoline bothered my nose and made my eyes tingle, but I continued my ascent to his face, meeting first his snow-white neck, then his thin lips and finally his dark, deadly eyes. I immediately lowered mine, unable to sustain his gaze. I swallowed.

He moved even closer to my face, forcing me to press my back against the door. To my surprise, he grabbed my chin and forced me to look him straight in the eyes. I aimed my gaze into his brown irises and saw something snap in them. His eyebrows furrowed even more and he gritted his teeth until he let go of my chin with a snap. The hand that had just released me from his grip closed around my neck again, leaving me no chance to breathe.

I opened my eyes wide, terrified. I clawed at his hand with my fingernails, but my efforts proved utterly futile. His grip grew stronger with each passing second, and his eyes thinned until they almost disappeared. I gasped for air as his face moved closer and closer to mine. Our noses brushed against each other, and I could tell from his satisfied grin how much pleasure he was getting from this situation.

I realized that I had stumbled upon a bloody psychopath.

Almost at the limit of my oxygen supply, I made one last desperate attempt. I pulled my leg back and kicked it forward with all the force I had in my body. I hit him right in that sensitive spot, forcing him to let go and kneel down. I immediately turned to open the door, but my luck could not last that long.

I felt myself being grabbed by my hair, and a second later I felt a stabbing pain in my head. He had slammed me against the piano. My counteroffensive had only ended up infuriating him more. I could tell just by looking at his face. He was livid with rage. Still dazed from the blow from earlier, I saw the room whirling. Because of this I didn't understand what he was doing until I felt him towering over me. Sitting astride my legs, he grabbed me by the collar of my blouse and yanked me forward, forcing me to arch my back.

I was not even in time to realize the situation that I felt something wet hit my face, immediately feeling a deep burning sensation in both eyes. The pain was so bad that I could not help but cry out. A pungent smell of gasoline was occluding my nostrils, and I felt a bittersweet taste in my mouth. My head felt completely wet and I immediately felt nauseous. I tried to open my eyes, but when I did, my vision became completely blurred and I could only catch a glimpse of my attacker’s brown irises injected with blood and evil.

I squinted my eyelids, continuing to scream in pain. My eyes burned, I was short of oxygen and my head ached so badly. I felt the guy’s white hands tighten around my throat again, but this time I had no intention of fighting back. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. If he wanted to kill me that badly, I was going to let him do it.

Then, I heard the door open wide.

“Holy shit… Yoongi!” I shouted, throwing myself at the boy’s figure. I grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to grab the lighter he was holding. Once again, he had tried to set himself on fire. But this time he was not alone. She was there. The girl I had seen in front of the reception desk who had brought back so many memories. “Yoongi… Yoongi, damn it, let her go!” I shouted again, pinning his arms down and yanking him to pull his hand away from the girl’s throat. Jungsun immediately came to my aid, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him backward.

Yoongi may have appeared weak, but his willpower should not be underestimated.

I sensed an intense smell of gasoline, and once I retrieved the lighter, I threw it into the hallway for safety. Then I went back to dealing with my companion, who seemed to have completely lost control of his emotions.

“We need to sedate him, I’ll go get a syringe,” Jungsun suggested, but we didn’t have enough time. I had to think of something else.

“Yoongi… Yoongi, look at me. Look at me!” I let him go and stood in front of him, covering his view. But his attention was still on the girl lying behind me. He looked possessed; I had never seen him in that state. “SUGA!”

Finally, Yoongi froze, as if he had just awakened from a trance-like state. He fixed his eyes in mine and looked at me bewildered. I sighed heavily. It was amazing that he responded so easily to that name and not to his own. He was completely misguided. I walked over to him and hugged him tightly to stop his shoulders from shaking. He covered his face with his hands, massaging his eyelids heavily. Then he ran his trembling fingers through his damp, sticky hair.

Once I was sure he had finally calmed down, I turned to the girl behind me. She had a wound on the back of her head and was bleeding. I checked her pulse and opened her eyes to take a look at her pupils with a small flashlight given to me by Jungsun. I froze suddenly, checking a second time as a precaution. Damn.

I turned my head to meet Jungsun’s questioning eyes. I cast a glance at Yoongi who was still sitting on the ground with his hands clawed into his blond hair. He was breathing heavily but seemed stable. I went back to look at the girl who had started moving again. I helped her sit up and brought my face closer to hers, noticing that she was keeping her eyes closed.

“Miss,” I said in a whisper. “Open your eyes. Can you see me?”

The brunette remained motionless for a few moments, then, with a tremendous effort, lifted her eyelids. She blinked them once or twice, until she lifted her chin slightly in my direction. She looked at me, but without really paying me any attention. She parted her lips.

“I can’t.”

39 notes · View notes