Page 148 of The Ache That Stayed

Blood. Mine. The warmth. The wetness.

The pain came heavily after—not sharp, not immediate. My knees gave out before I could stop it. She caught me halfway down, or maybe I dragged her with me. I couldn’t tell anymore.

The floor hit hard, but I barely felt it. All I felt—was her.

Her hands were everywhere. Desperate. Like she didn’t know where to hold me to keep me here.

“Santino—no—no—stay with me—”

Her voice didn’t sound right. It sounded sharp and thin.

I tried to focus on it. On her.

“Stay with me—please—please—”

Her words were breaking, falling apart before they could fully form, her hands pressing harder against the wound as if trying to force it close. Like she could undo what had already happened.

I lifted my hand slowly. It felt heavier than it should’ve been. I found her face anyway. My fingers brushed against her cheek, brushing just beneath her eye, smearing something warm—blood, tears, I couldn’t tell.

“You’re okay… safe,” I said. Or tried to.

It came out rough. Faint.

“I’ve got you.”

Her head shook violently.

“No—no—don’t—don’t do that—don’t—”

Her voice cracked completely now. Gone. She was sobbing now. She pressed harder against my chest, trying to stop the bleeding, like she could hold me here if she just didn’t let go.

“I’m here,” she whispered desperately, like she could still anchor me to this world. “I’m here, Santino—look at me—”

I was. I couldn’t look anywhere else.

My hand shifted, fingers catching a strand of her hair. Holding it. Soft. Familiar.

“Why… why this colour…” I murmured, the question slipping out without thought, without weight, like something from a different moment entirely.

Her breath hitched. A broken, disbelieving sound left her—half laugh, half sob.

“Because you call me Volpi,” she whispered, crying harder now. “Because you said I—”

The words broke. She couldn’t finish. But I knew.

A fox survives.

My lips twitched slowly, trying to smile. My chest felt wrong. Heavy. Warm. Fingers twitched once in her hair. Not enough to hold. Just enough to feel.

“Rox… I—”

The word caught and stayed there. She stilled, just for a second. Like she understood anyway. Her hand came up to my face, trembling.

“I know,” she said quickly, her voice breaking again. “I know. Don’t waste your breath—”

Her forehead pressed against mine, her grip tightening around my wrist suddenly, pressing there like she was checking my pulse—then rubbing small circles into my skin without realising she was doing it.

“Just stay,” she whispered against my skin. “Please… stay with me… please…”