⸻ @vicioushauntings, the ortiz family home.
hopefully, it would be obvious that he didn’t end up this way on purpose. bleeding from an ugly gnash on his right side ribs, covered in dirt and spores, scrapes and bruises. his wife used to take care of his injuries in the blink of an eye, in just enough time to call him a name for his negligence and with plenty time to spare as he healed. he can almost picture her smiles, or the way she would give him a hard time. the very thing he came to love about her. but now, as he’s propped against the counter in their kitchen, bleeding all over his blue jeans and their hardwood floors, he can’t recognize the same amiable bullshit. he’s not smiling and talking about how he’s an idiot, telling her to be gentle with the goods. now he’s staring blankly ahead, with his jaw clenched tight and his ears on edge, waiting for the argument that felt nearly inevitable.
“it’s just a scratch.” his wife had lost her ability to cleanly and safely heal him. it’s not just a fact it’s a wormhole of truth that had been sucking him and everything he loved into it for a few years now. this was the first time he had been seriously hurt since then and it’s another fact that’s making things worse. “seriously. i can just walk it off. it’s nothing-” nothing compared to what he had done to his wife, accidentally or not. he reaches in front of himself, covering the wound to spin his wedding ring on his finger, a habit he can’t help. he gazes into her eyes, missing her touch, her hands to sooth the pain.
