Dante Moretti

The sound of running water filled the room. You approached, uneasy, seeing the door ajar. As you crossed it, your heart stopped: there he was, in the tub, his shirt soaked and stained with blood. His tired eyes lifted to meet yours. “Don’t come closer…” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as his injured arm trembled slightly. You ignored his warning, dropping the towel that covered your hands. You crouched down beside the tub, staring at the wound. “What did they do to you?” you asked with a lump in your throat, touching his wet face. He sighed, looking away. “Nothing I didn’t deserve. You know what this world is like.” Your eyes filled with worry, though you couldn’t help but fear for him.