Yesterday - Bucciarati Fanfiction

Chapter 33 - The Emissary

"He's fine, he woke up a week ago, but he'll be leaving soon. Mista's staying by his side, he said you wouldn't want to see him when you wake up." A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of his name. I don't know why. Staring back at Bruno, I got lost in thoughts for a moment, rummaging through my head for any reason why I would react like that. Then it all came rushing back in;

She'll survive, I believe she can survive a bullet wound, I believe she can survive a bullet wound- I swear I believe she can do it, if I believe enough, she'll make it through right? Her body hit the ground with a thud. Everything was silent. There was a ringing in my ear, my hands were shaking. Her eyes they're wide open but there's no emotion in it. I can't find the strength to move, now she can't move either.

I did not pull the trigger- but I was holding the gun, I killed her, I did not want to kill her. She's dead. I killed her. I'm cold, my pants are slowly being wet from the slight drizzle of rain that started, I'm muddy. I can smell the faint scent of iron. It's the blood. There's also the smell of something burnt, the clothes, the gun. I'm shaking, I can't hold back the tears, the sobs. I'm sobbing? Or am I wailing? I can't control myself. What have I done? I didn't want to do that; I didn't want to do that. She could have left. "It had to be done bella, this was the mission." I heard the usually happy voice of Mista, serious and dark.

"Alda, Alda, come back to me. Alda, everything is fine, amor, breathe please." Everything came back, I remembered all that happened. Why did she die? Why did he kill her? She could have joined us, she wasn't wrong- I could stop thinking about it, I could hear Bruno's voice. I could hear it but I couldn't find it, I couldn't do anything. His voice was then followed by the same, calmer, voice from earlier. They were telling him that I was feeling a shock, then they asked him what happened and he explained everything. I was aware of everything around me but I couldn't seem to hook on reality, it felt like a daydream. Suddenly, a light, it was moving, in and out of my sight. After a few more moves of the light, I was finally focusing again, on the person in front of me. The nurse, he had a small flashlight at the tip of his fingers and was holding my eyelids open as he checked. "Ah there she is, welcome back. How are you feeling?" There was a polite smile on his face, but he was probably a bit frustrated that it happened, all because of the person next to me.

Shrugging, I said I felt numb and that I could hardly move. He laughed and said it was because of the morphine, that he was going to lower the dosage then proceeded to ask me more questions about how I was feeling. He did a quick check up of my vitals, or so he said, I really had no knowledge of that, and he wrote a few things down on my charts. Once he was done, he looked at Bruno with a warning look, "I would suggest avoiding topics that would increase her heart race, I do not know what topic was brought up but maybe avoid that until she's if fully up, right?" It was the first time I saw Bruno like that, but it made me smile, he was pouting, like a child being scolded. But he brought his serious attitude back and agreed politely before getting up and shaking the nurse's hand, thanking him for his work. It was with the most passive-aggressive attitude that he then asked him to leave the room. I was still pretty high from the medicine and that long sleep but I could still observe him for what it was and it was funny to see.

When the nurse left the room, his chest huffed and his eyes filled with frustration, Bruno closed the door gently behind him before finally looking at me with worry. "What happened?" Alright, he was not planning on beating around the bush. Sighing I tried to sit up, it only made Bruno rush to my side as he helped me up, pillows behind my back as he used the bed's remote to raise the mattress. When I was comfortable, first I shrugged. "I don't know..." he knew I was lying. He sat back on his seat, and grabbed my hands, asking me to be honest. Did I really want to talk about it? No. Did I have a choice? Unfortunately, no. So ,I played it off, and chuckled, "I think I'll need therapy." But the more I thought about it, about what happened before I was in a coma, to me it was last night, to them it was pretty far away, the less I could hold back.