Tied to You - ON HOLD

Chapter Twenty Seven

I hadn't intended to sleep for long, but the events of the night before had tired me so much that my body pleaded with me to sleep a couple extra hours.

The original plan was to wake up at 4:00 and be ready to leave the house in order to see Alessandro at 5am, but it was now 8:00 and I was still in bed.

I groaned and stretched. I rushed to get ready, and headed downstairs.

"Mija, come. Have some breakfast." My mother called.

"Mamí, no lo siento. I need to go to the hospital."

"Ay sí. You go, mija, update us later." She said, stepping into the hallway with me.

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and promised to do so.

I rushed to put my shoes on, and once I had, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked fine... to some extent.

I look so tired, I can't even deny it.

As I put my hand on the doorknob, someone cleared their throat behind me.

I turned to see Sergio standing there, dressed and ready to leave.

"I hope you weren't thinking about leaving without me, Chiara."

A faint smile graced my lips. "Would never dream about it. Come on, then."

I turned back and opened the door, only to be startled by someone waiting at the door, their fist raised as if ready to knock.

They scoffed and let out a low chuckle in seeing me, and I froze in shock.

"Imagine how surprised I was to hear that my wife wasn't at home where I expected her to be, but instead she was at her old house. You didn't think you could get rid of me that quickly, did you?"

A blood stain seeped through his shirt, and he used an arm to keep himself stable, leaning his weight on the door frame . Faint scratches littered his face and as I continued to scan his body, I heard the slightest wince.

Instantly, I was by his side, putting his body weight onto me in order for me to move him.

Sergio grabbed his other arm and helped us into the house, moving much more slowly than I was.

"Sergio, joder, he'll age ten years by the time we get to the living room- hurry up." I complained.

He picked up the pace and we got him to the living room; my mother walked in and saw the scenes, instantly telling us to set him down on the floor.

"Mamí, el suelo, en serio? Está herido, no puede estar aquí." I frantically said.
[translation: Mami, the floor, really? He is hurt, he can't be here.]

"Tú papa estará furioso si tienes sangre en la sofá."
[translation: your father will be furious if you get blood on the sofa]

I waved her off and set him down gently, ordering Sergio to bring me a first aid kit immediately.

I ripped the cotton shirt he wore with my bare hands and examined the wound.

The stitches had come undone and he was bleeding again. Bruised ribs, cuts and scratches, the works.

He should have been at home. In bed. Or at the hospital. Resting. Not chasing after me because I disappeared for a single night.

It was my fault.

Sergio slammed the kit down beside me, almost slipping the contents out everywhere. I dove into it, grabbing exactly what I needed to fix this mess. As I got to work, footsteps echoed as someone entered the room.