"Puppy."
"I am serious, Emiliano!"
The hell, I am.
I am not going to jump into the traffic just to punish a psychopath.
But Emiliano needs my flower. So it's the only card I can use so far.
God knows he'll catch my bluffing soon enough.
"It's not as bad as it looks. I promise!"
"His whole face rottened! His teeth were melting!"
"I can explain!"
"What could you possibly explain about this?"
Emiliano sat down hard, his back to a low tangle of branches. His coat was soaked, clinging to his leg where the blood wouldn't stop. He pressed both hands over the wound, breathing through his teeth.
From a distance, it looked performative.
Like he was trying to get my sympathy. Like he thought sitting there would slow me down.
A bad actor I might add.
I watched for a second longer, just long enough to see the blood gush between his fingers — thick, dark, pulsing. He wasn't faking anything. That stab had landed deep.
But could someone like Emiliano really feel pain?
