When she stays

When she stays
Dante’s POV

I tried to sit upright. The moment my muscles tightened, pain tore through my abdomen. A sharp groan escaped before I could stop it.

Catherina immediately leaned forward and slipped her arm behind my back.

“Slowly,” she whispered. “Please.”

With her help, I managed to sit, though every inch of movement felt like someone was dragging a blade across my skin. My breath shook. Sweat clung to my forehead.

When I lowered my gaze, I froze.

I was wearing only my brief.

My trousers were gone. My shirt too. My entire waist was wrapped in clean white bandages. Layers of them. My thighs were covered as well, the fabric peeking out through the dim light.

I blinked, confused.

“I did not remove my clothes,” I said slowly.

Catherina stiffened.

“I removed them,” she admitted. “You were bleeding from your thighs. I had to get to the wounds. I used the scissors in the bathroom. You… you were not waking up.”

I stared at her, my chest tightening. Not from embarrassment. From the image that suddenly formed in my mind. Her panicked. Her hands shaking while cutting through my clothes. Her trying to stop the bleeding on her own.

I looked down at the bandages again. Neat enough to show effort. Uneven enough to reveal inexperience. The doctor’s words would echo later, but even now, I understood one thing.

She tried to save me.

I swallowed.

“Catherina… leave. I need to change.”

She hesitated, worry flickering in her eyes, but she nodded without arguing. She stepped out of the room and closed the door gently.

I could hear her breathing on the other side. Soft. Close. She was leaning against the door.

I tried to stand.

My legs buckled. The floor rushed up to meet me before I could stop myself.

Pain exploded across my stomach. I gritted my teeth, breath ripping out of me.

The door flew open.

“Dante.” Her voice shook.

Behind her, Lucia and Leonardo appeared. Lucia’s eyes widened in horror. Leonardo moved quickly, reaching me before she did.

“Let me help,” Leonardo said quietly.

Normally, I would have refused. I hated the look people gave me when I was weak. I hated the pity. The softness. The way their voices changed.

But I could barely lift myself.

I allowed him to grip my arm and help me sit on the edge of the bed.

Lucia stepped closer, her face pale. “What happened to you. Who did this. Why did you not call someone.”

“Mother,” Catherina interrupted, her tone polite but firm. “Please call an ambulance. He needs proper treatment. Questions can wait.”

Lucia looked torn, but she turned and hurried out, dialing.

Leonardo remained beside me, steadying me with one hand. His eyes were sharp, as if he was trying to read the situation without asking too much.

Through the haze of pain, a single thought circled in my mind.

Who was driving Catherina’s car.

My jaw tightened. I wanted answers. I wanted to get up and find whoever dared to ram me off a bridge. Whoever dared to touch something connected to her.

But my body was too tired. My vision dimmed around the edges. I leaned back slowly, breathing hard.

The sirens arrived minutes later. Paramedics rushed in, assessing me, lifting me onto the stretcher. The cool air touched my skin as they carried me out. The hallway lights blurred.

Right before they pushed me through the door, I saw her.

Catherina.

Standing there barefoot, hair messy, cheeks flushed with worry. Her eyes locked onto mine for a split second. Panic. Guilt. Fear. All of it mixed in her gaze.

Then the doors closed.

The ride to the hospital felt long. My consciousness flickered. Voices overlapped. Hands pressed against my wounds.

When I opened my eyes again, a doctor was staring down at me.

“You are lucky someone tried to stitch you at home,” he said. “An amateur, but they slowed the bleeding. Without that, I doubt you would have made it here.”

I groaned in acknowledgment.

Lucky.
That was not a word I heard often.

They settled me in a room. The walls were soft white. The light dim. The pain lessened but lingered enough to remind me I was alive.

Morning crept in before I noticed it.

The door opened quietly.

Catherina stepped in holding a tray of food. Her eyes searched my face as if checking whether I could still breathe.

“You should eat,” she said softly. “You need strength.”

I looked away.

“Leave.”

She blinked. As if she did not hear me correctly. “I brought this for you. You have not eaten since yesterday. You should try to…”

“Leave,” I repeated. “Now.”

The shock on her face was instant. Sharp. Like a slap she did not expect. She stood still for a moment, her lips parting slightly, her eyes dimming.

Then she nodded once. Quiet. Emotionless.
She set the tray down and walked out,closing the door behind her without another word.

My chest tightened. Annoyed. Irritated. At myself. At her. At everything.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table.

My thumb hovered for a moment.

Then I scrolled to a number I had not called in a long time.

Dexter.

An acquaintance

I pressed the call button and brought the phone to my ear.

“Come to the hospital,” I said when he answered. “Now.”

Minutes later, the door opened again.

Dexter stepped in. Casual, confident, but with a sharp edge in his gaze that missed nothing. He stopped the moment he saw me lying on the bed, bandages around my abdomen, hair mussed, eyes still half-shadowed from sleep.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low but edged with concern. “Why the hell are you in a hospital bed?”

I let out a dry laugh that hurt more than it helped. “Long story,” I muttered, wincing as I shifted slightly on the mattress. Pain lanced across my side.

Dexter stepped closer, eyes scanning me like a predator studying a wounded animal. “You look worse than the stories I hear. You need to explain before I start imagining things far worse than reality.”

I ran a hand across my face. “I might be here for a few days. Wounds are… deeper than I expected. Some idiot decided to ram my car. Someone I did not expect.”

Dexter’s eyes narrowed. “Someone? You mean it wasn’t an accident?”

I shook my head, slow and deliberate. “Not an accident. I am too familiar with the cars on these streets. Someone was driving her car. At three in the morning. I saw it myself. I wanted to chase, but…” I let the words trail off. Tired. Too tired. Too much pain.

He pressed his lips together, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “And now you are stuck in here? You always did like making things difficult for yourself.”

I smirked faintly. “It is what it is. I have to recover. That is priority now.”

Dexter studied me a moment longer. Then he nodded. “I will stay until you feel up to talking. But knowing you, that could take a while.
”

“After I get out of here, I'm going to dig into and find whoever that did this to me and make him pay,” I paused, a sigh escaping my lips.

He smirked.