It was over. Andrei had called an ambulance before leaving the room, and then we went to the hotel's bar. We sat cozily in a corner that gave us a nice view of the whole room. Just in case. Soon, the waiter brought us each a tall glass of beer.
Andrei broke the silence once the waiter left. “How are you, Sandy?”
I sighed. “I'm fine.”
He just stared at me in silence. Waiting for more.
“I... never thought I'd end up doing this. But, now that it's over...”
“You knew you didn't have to go the extra mile, yet you did. And now you want more, don't you?” His whole expression was warm, his very words even, but I felt as if he'd thrown me into a freezing ocean.
All I could do was stare at him. Knowing too well that the answer wasn't the resounding no I wished it to be. Realizing it was more of an oh, shit. “I...”
He's always been good at reading minds. “Yet you don't want to admit it, so you hide behind the 'I'm following orders' bullshit.”
Silence.
“You want more but you want to not have a choice. Don't you?”
Yes. “I...”
He sighed. “Well, this time you said you wanted to do it. You made your choice. So you can't blame this on me.” He finished his beer and got on his feet. “Room 309, come once you're done with that.”
“Have I ever had a choice?” I muttered. If he heard me, he ignored me.
I kept staring at him as he left. The devil himself. I looked at my beer. Still full. My head was still somewhat dizzy, but I took a long gulp. This was better. … Shit. He was right, I realized. Painfully right. And it hurt, deep inside. I...
Crash. The tall glass shattered in my hand, shards flying everywhere. I flinched slightly. The waiter came rushing, and nearly fainted when he saw my hand, full of blood. “Oh, god, are you alright? Should I call emergencies?”
“I'm fine, don't worry. This is nothing, really.” I said, completely calm.
Truth is, it hurt. Nothing too bad – I had been through much, much worse. I clenched my hand as soon as the waiter went away. It stung quite badly. I flinched again. And smiled. Physical pain was much easier to withstand that the broken mess that was my mind. It has always helped me forget. Even if only for a moment. But a second of peace, of knowing that I'm in full control of myself, is like an oasis in the middle of an endless desert. That night it was enough to go to the bar, ask the waiter how much – only to find that Andrei had already paid – and haul myself to the room.
I saw him laying on the bed when I arrived. He sprang up when he saw me enter... when he saw my hand. “Oh, shit! Sandy, what the hell have you done this time?”
“It's nothing.” I dismissed it.
He grabbed it, not giving me a chance to protest. “This is from a glass. You've...” He looked at me in the eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He sighed. “Sandy. Swear to me you won't do this again. You want me to help, I'll help you. I promise. But don't do this.”
“You weren't even there.” I said calmly.
“No, I was here waiting for you. I did not expect you'd shatter a damned glass in your hand, you blockhead.” He sighed again. “Go put it under the faucet, clean it up a bit. It's bleeding quite a lot, but we can't bandage it with all those shards.”
I did as he said – not that he let me any other option. He followed me to the sink and stared at me the whole time. The cold water numbed my hand a bit, but the full pressure of the faucet, tearing the shards from my hand, made it hurt badly. I flinched again.
“Does it hurt?”
“Quite so.”
He sighed. “Give me.” He grabbed my hand and took my knife. “Let me dig those shards out, at least.” He started shaving my hand, tearing more and more shards out. It hurt like hell, but I just clenched my jaw and let him work. He ignored my expression – he knew too well that I could stand a lot more. “Damn, there are quire a few stuck... I'll have to dig them out.” He looked at me, again ignoring my pained expression. “This is going to hurt, Sandy.”
And he dug them out. One by one, the tip of the knife digging deep into my flesh, taking the shards out, which seemingly refused to leave without a last effort to cut me. The sink, and everything around it, was a bloody mess when he finished. He took a hand to my neck. “... A tad fast but stable.” He muttered to himself. “Okay Sandy, you've lost quite a bit of blood. And it doesn't want to stop. Shit. Come here, I think I have clean bandages in the suitcase.” I just let him work his magic. His steady hands gently bandaged mine. It still hurt a lot, but... seeing him care...
Once he was done, he looked at me again. “Swear to me you won't do this ever again. And I swear I'll help you.”
I stared at him. Okay, shattering a glass hadn't been my brightest idea. But... “Will you?”
“If it means I don't have to take you to the ER, then yes.”
“Prove it.”
He sighed loudly. “Shit, Sandy. Seriously. What the hell is wrong with you.” But he wasn't going to let me shatter a glass again, and that meant he had to keep his word. For now, at least. “Okay. … Lie down. Last thing we need is you fainting.” He drew a knife.
I lay on the bed, taking a deep breath as he sat closer to me, trying to get ready.
He looked at me, his eyes cold as ice, his voice calm and soft. “Okay, this is going to hurt. Ready?”
“Do it.”
He held my head with one hand, while the other steadily guided the knife, retracing the scar I already had on my cheek – the mark. The pain of the slow cut was overwhelming, he wanted to make sure I didn't ask again. I simply breathed slowly, feeling every last bit of it. And I couldn't help but to smile.
