The bathroom was silent, except for the occasional sharp hiss of breath escaping Izana's lips. He sat on the cold tile floor, legs drawn slightly up, tweezers clutched tightly in one hand. His blindfold was still in place, though it did little to hide the tight line of his jaw and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
The bullet in his shoulder was wedged deep, angled in a way that made every attempt to extract it a struggle. Pain flared whenever he tried to lift it, twist it, or even nudge it free. "Fuck… goddammit…!" he cursed, voice hoarse and low, muffled slightly by the tiled walls. The sound echoed faintly, sharp enough to make Leah tense in the bedroom.
She had been sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to keep herself occupied, but her gaze kept drifting across the room. Her eyes followed the scattered bandages and blood-stained bullets strewn across the floor and counter surfaces. She remembered his words from earlier—"The last guest wasn't so lucky." At the time, she hadn't thought too deeply about it.
But now… her mind began to piece things together. The man at the reception desk—they had passed him earlier—looked so familiar. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way Leah had seen him moving quietly around the mansion weeks ago. She froze as realization struck her like a cold gust of wind.
The bullets, the scars, the bandages… and then she remembered the reflection in the mirror when Izana had taken off his shirt. The rows of gunshot scars on his back. A shiver ran down her spine. Her eyes widened as understanding settled in. There had never been another guest. There had never been anyone else. It had been Izana all along. Every bandage, every bullet, every blood-stained surface had been him, surviving, enduring, alone.
Leah's breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled slightly as she realized the full extent of his suffering. He carried all of this… all alone… and never told me.
Before she could gather her thoughts fully, a sharp, angry yell cut through the quiet:
"Fuck! Goddammit!"
Leah jumped, heart hammering. The voice was raw, pained, desperate. She hesitated, then stood up, taking a careful step toward the bathroom door. Her knuckles knocked lightly against the frame. "Izana… are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice trembling despite her attempt at calm.
There was a pause. She could hear him breathing sharply, dragging the tweezers across something stubborn. Then:
"I'm fine!" he barked, voice sharp and strained, almost defensive.
Leah frowned, pressing her hand against the door. "Izana… I know you're not. I can help you."
"I don't need your help!" he shouted suddenly, the pain and frustration in his tone slicing through the room. "Dammit, Leah! I can handle this myself!"
Leah flinched at his harsh words, the hurt blooming immediately in her chest. Her lips parted, but no words came—she had no idea how to respond without making him angrier. His voice softened slightly after a moment, but there was still tension and a sharp edge in it.
"I… I'm sorry," he muttered, quieter this time, voice strained. "Wait… wait here. Just… give me a moment."
She hesitated, unsure if she should leave, but before she could respond, Izana reached for his shirt. In one swift motion, he pulled it back over his shoulders, hiding the scars and the carved word he had always kept hidden. He unlocked the door and spoke, tone low but steady:
"Alright. You can come in. But… carefully."
Leah's stomach twisted. She nodded slowly, her movements cautious, and gently pushed the door open. She stepped inside.
Izana was sitting on the floor, leaning slightly against the sink, shoulder tilted awkwardly as the bullet remained lodged stubbornly beneath his skin. Blood had seeped through the fabric of his shirt, leaving dark patches on the tile beneath him. His jaw was tight, and the tweezers clutched in his hand shook slightly.
Leah knelt beside him, careful to keep her movements slow. "Izana… how can I help?" she asked softly.
He glanced at her briefly, green eyes flickering with hesitation and pain. "I… I can't get it out," he admitted, voice low, almost a whisper. "It's stuck… shit… it won't come."
Leah took a steadying breath. Okay. I can do this. She picked up the tweezers from his hand, careful not to touch him more than necessary. "We'll do this together," she said, determination threading her tone.
He flinched slightly, every muscle tense under her guidance, but didn't pull away this time. "Just… don't fuck it up," he muttered, voice low and rough.
Minutes passed, slow and tense, each attempt careful. The bullet was lodged deep, and every tiny movement caused Izana to hiss sharply, swear under his breath. "Shit! Fuck! Damn it!"
Leah held his arm steady, murmuring encouragements softly. "Almost there… just a little more…"
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the bullet slipped free. She held it up carefully, then turned her attention to his wound. "Okay… now we need to bandage it," she said gently.
Izana groaned but lifted his arm slightly as she instructed. That's when his shirt shifted—just enough to reveal the word etched into his chest long ago. Monster.
Leah froze, eyes widening. Her breath caught.
Izana's head snapped toward her, green eyes sharp and defensive. "Get out!" he barked, voice sharp and panicked.
Leah shook her head, determination overriding her fear. "No, I haven't finished wrapping the bandage yet. Let me help you."
He flinched, face twisting in anger, frustration, and vulnerability all at once. "I'm used to doing this myself, Leah! Get the fuck out!"
The words stung. Leah flinched but obeyed instantly, rising to her feet. Without another word, she stepped back and exited the bathroom. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving Izana alone with the pain, the bullet wound, and the scars he had carried in silence for so long.
Leah leaned against the door, hands gripping the frame lightly. Her heart ached. She wanted to rush back in, to comfort him, to tell him it was okay—but she knew this was his way, his space, his moment to regain control.
Inside, Izana sank against the wall, head bowed, chest rising and falling unevenly. Sweat glistened on his skin, pain and frustration etched into every line of his body. His fingers trembled slightly, resting over the fresh wound, over the scars beneath, over the word that marked him forever.
He muttered quietly to himself, cursing under his breath, murmuring a mix of pain and anger. "Fuck… dammit… Leah… I'm… I'm fine…"
But he wasn't. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to acknowledge it, even if only in whispers.