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Blaise had gone to fetch the ointment, bandages, and sanitary wipes for your feet. You were back in the room you never imagined to return to, where he had revived you from your illness the first time. Laying there in the dark, the comforter grew hot and sticky below you as the wounds continued to bleed. Oozing liquid onto the bed, you began to feel bad for Blaise, for he would have to clean up after your mess, again. Though the confusion outweighed the guilt, especially since every ounce of you stung... from wearing shoes that he handed to you.

He came through the door with the materials in his arms. Blending in with the shadows, he went up to the bed and kneeled down beside you, tenderly taking a look at your feet. Gingerly holding your right foot, he slightly pressed the small towel doused in alcohol against your skin. In response, your body flinched from the pain and you bit down on your lips, hard, to prevent the scream threatening to come out. The now very familiar taste of blood flooded into your mouth, the metallic tang coating your lips.

He sent you an apologetic look. "I will make this as quick as possible. I know it hurts, but it will be better to clean this out before it gets infected." Mutely nodding at him, you scrunched your fists at the fabrics beneath you, preparing yourself for the pain that was about to come. The young male smiled at you in assurance and signaled with his head that he was going for it once more.

Every press felt like another piece of skin had been peeled off. You tried not to move too much out of courtesy for Blaise, but goddamn was it hard. Limbs shaking in every aspect of you, the droplets of sweat slipped down your face as salty tears sprung from the corner of your eyes. It was hell on earth and every passing second felt like an eternity. When was it going to end? When the hell was this going to fucking end?

Just when you were about to call it quits and kick your legs upward, the towel finally stopped touching your feet. Letting out heavy breaths as if you've just got out of labor, you relaxed your limbs.

"You did well," Blaise complimented, scooting himself closer to your face. Since he had an extra towel that was dipped in cold water instead, he gently placed it on your hot temple. "The worst part is over. You don't have to worry anymore."

He returned his focus on your feet and began applying the ointment next. Still slightly stinging you, it wasn't as bad because it had a cooling after effect. Painting your entire feet from top to bottom with the white substance, he then let it sit there for a minute. Lastly, taking the roll of bandages out, he gently spun it professionally around the corners of them, tying two neat bows at the ankles of your legs. A pair of two white makeshift shoes, the vomit-inducing feet were no longer there to see.

"Thank you so much, Blaise," you whispered. The wariness was growing after all the excitement faded. It was hitting you hard on the chest at this moment and you wished to be at home to sleep this all away. It could've been the perfect night, but it totally switched on you and became a nightmare so unexpected it was nearly unbelievable.

Picking up the scraps and the rest of the materials, he got up and set them down on a table in the corner. He then got back to you and sat down on a wooden chair beside the bed. His green eyes still worried and sad, he gazed at you, seemingly lost in his thoughts. After zoning into the present again, he asked, "So... should we talk about what happened?"

"Yes," you said softly. That was right. Before you should hurry home, you needed answers or else you would never feel at ease. It was best to get it done now and then, so it wouldn't have to mentally bother you.

"You can go first then."

You took a staggering huff, turning your head to look directly into Blaise's green eyes, which almost seemed to be glowing in the dim lighting of the room. "What were these shoes doing to me? How the hell were they hurting me? Where did you get them?"

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