51. A Bar Fight.

Gerald stares at me from across the room as I sit on the pristine couch on top of a fluffy towel that had been spread on it so that I won’t accidentally stain it with blood.

That is still steadily dripping from the various cuts on my person.

Coraline sits next to me, dabbing a ball of cotton to the deepest ones on my face, specifically my forehead and cheeks. There is a small dustbin on the ground next to her, half filled with used, red-stained cotton. On her lap is a first aid kid, haphazardly put together by Gerald who’d run to the pharmacy nearest to the hotel after Coraline and I came crashing into his hotel room, her shocked and trying to support my weight while I tried to stay upright.

“What the hell happened?” Gerald questions, still panting a bit from his run to the pharmacy.

“A bar fight,” I answer with a wince, and Coraline tsks.

“Don’t move your head,” she advises, discarding the pink-stained cotton ball and taking another from the packet in her other hand, “I just got this
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