75 days after...

—Rais...

—¿Mmm?

—You're bleeding...

—Yes, I know.

He looked at the wooden board where among the carrots, there was blood, a pool of blood, he nodded confirming that it was definitely bleeding. Cautiously I approached his side, put my hand on his wrist and with the other I took the knife from him to put it in the sink, he did nothing, so I squeezed the wound to try to stop the bleeding. The gesture of pain he made was minimal so I squeezed with a little more force to try to stop him definitively.

—Why don't you come with me to get the medicine cabinet?.

It was a subtle way of telling him that I wouldn't leave him alone to do anything stupid in my kitchen.

—Okay.

Admitting at the time that I didn't know what I was doing would have been a good start out of my own shock, but I was nevertheless able to force my feet to move urgently to the bathroom. I sat him on the toilet and went to the mirror to get the medicine cabinet, I was about to take it but my eyes went directly to the blood on my hands.

"Doesn't it hurt? Why in this situation am I the only one who wants to cry?"

I put the things on the floor next to me and knelt in front of him before reaching out my hands to his.

—Show me the wound—he gave me the paw—How the hell did you do this to yourself? Did you do it on purpose?.

—Maybe...—his voice didn't even sound like hers, it was off—I do it—he tried to stop myself, but I insisted for a bit until I gave in when my hands couldn't stop shaking.

I began to believe that no one but him caused all those injuries.

—Why did you do it to yourself?—I stayed in my place and followed his movements in case he didn't want to heal.

—I got distracted—He shrugged, throwing the alcohol as if nothing in his wound—I saw a guy fall to the ground when he tripped over a hose.

My face flushed. He had laughed at me at the time, had thought it was my imagination, but it turned out to be him.

—You should be more careful.

—Me?—I asked incredulously, almost letting out a nervous laugh—You are the one who almost amputated his hand cutting the carrots—bandaged his hand—What the hell is wrong with you, Rais?

I thought he was going to tell me, that he was really going to talk to me, but he keep silent as put everything back into the medicine cabinet.

—What were you doing alone here? Before all this...—I stepped aside when saw his intention to get up.

What are you?

He put the box behind the mirror and turned to offer me his good hand, I took it and stood up. He left me next to him and put my hands under the tap where he helped me wash my hands of his blood.

—Why are you doing this?—my thought left my lips. The fact that he looked at me made me realize that had said it out loud.

—I want to take care of you, Zachary—he turned off the tap and threw a towel over my hands.

And he left as if his words had been nothing more than "Goodbye." I ran to the door and opened it watching him walk to the stairs, I hurried to take him by the shoulders forcing him to turn around. He had gone down a couple of steps, therefore, I was passing him in height and his eyes were widening to a size where I could see all his irises.

What was I going to say?

—You have beautiful eyes...

I'm sure that was not it!

I pushed all contact away from him and even recoiled with face seething with shame.

—Thanks...?—he continued his descent while I began to roll on the ground.

Why the hell did I tell him that?!

Not that it was a lie, but it wasn't why she had stopped him. I was scared when I realized that the last three days we were very "affective", at least yesterday I was a little more when tried to hug him... what the hell is happening? Did we get used to the other?.

Do you want to take care of me?

How are you going to take care of me when you can't take care of yourself?

Do you understand how empty those words sound from your mouth?

You're bleeding and you want to take care of me... That sounds very stupid

But still, it makes me very happy to hear you say it

Me wonder why I'm so stupid.

I looked at it throughout dinner, it was not something strange, it was what I always did because it was the only thing I could do besides eating, but looking at my plate was not an option. Maybe he should have asked about his words, just to start a conversation, but he didn't have the will for the effort it took to face possible bad answers from both of them. His hand seemed fine, that is, there was no blood on the bandage even though he used his left hand as if he had hardly removed his thumb. Was it really my fault? If I didn't stumble, would he have paid attention to what I was doing? Clearly yes, but it was not a normal reaction to laugh while cutting your finger and pretend nothing happened.

—Look... I think found your finger—I joked with a piece of carrot and got up before he said something.

I lifted the table laughing at my own joke under his gaze. He waited for him to finish cleaning everything and got up extinguishing most of the candles, he take two and give myself one.

—Your laugh is pretty...—he tried very hard to say that.

I blew out the candles and ran out into the dark bumping into the walls, the steps and even myself until I ended up in my room under the covers.

Is this a heart attack? or what the hell is wrong with my heart?