“Hi,” I say as I try to determine why he’s so uncomfortable.
I sense him fiddling with something and see that he has his medical kit on his lap.
“Can I look at the wound on your stomach?” he says, his voice soft.
“That’s fine, I guess,” I say quietly.
He gently moves the blanket on my lap and then unbuttons the lower part of my shirt and pulls it aside. I watch his face as he focuses on his task, and I can tell when he sees the wound. His whole body freezes, and he stops breathing for a moment. He licks his lips, and then he masks his expression as he says, “Hold this.”
I take the bottom of my shirt and hold it open so that he can get to the wound. I wince as he pokes at it gently.
“How long ago did the stitches come out?” he asks matter-of-factly.
“I’m not quite sure. I was sick for a while and lost track of the days,” I say.
I note that he hesitates again, but his expression is still masked, and after a moment, he begins to breathe again. “It seems to be healing well,” he says softly.
He digs in his medical kit and pulls out a small container. I expect he’s going to apply something to the wound, but instead, he hands it to me.
“This can help with the pain if it still hurts. Otherwise, it should be good as long as you take it easy for another fortnight,” he says as he looks searchingly at my face.
He then closes up his kit and stands. “You can close your shirt.”
As I’m fastening the buttons, looking for where I put my book, I notice he’s frozen in place.
He says softly, “Do you still want to hurt yourself?”
I pause for a moment, searching my thoughts.
“No, not at the moment,” I say.
He turns and leaves the room as I return to my reading.
DIO’S JOURNAL - ENTRY 191
Annum:5614
Entry 191 - livor
If my handwriting suffers in this entry, it is only because my hands are shaking. Neatness is paramount in such an important written account, so it bothers me that this is not up to my usual standards. However, this is an important entry, and I need to write it down before any details fade.
Fuck
I’m surprised I just survived that. I’m glad I was able to control myself under such duress. The anger of a demon is not a small thing, and of the few demons I’ve met, this one clearly carries a much more immense power. A far more immense power, in fact, than I realized until today. I’m annoyed at myself for underestimating him. It’s not a mistake I’ll make again. Not thatI tried to make him angry, of course. Nor do I have any reason to want to make him angry in the future.
Fuck, am I even making sense? Pull yourself together, Diogenes!
Normally, my actions, which are always taken with careful thought, are calculated to move me towards my goal. Yet somehow I erred this time. Clearly, there is some understanding I lack, something I’m blind to. That much anger over a mere girl isn’t right.
Between all the snarling and a damn solid right hook to the side of my head (that I was too shocked to defend myself against), my thoughts were and are scrambled. I think the gist of what he told me is that Chaosta isn’t an addict. What the fuck she is if not an addict, I don’t know. I should recognize these things after all.
Other pieces I managed to understand from the tirade are that Chaosta is “HIS”, whatever that means, and I’m not to make any decisions about her without talking with her. If she’s unable to make a decision about something, we are to consult with Malam. I’m not sure why he thinks she’s able to make rational decisions, so he’s really just wasting his time. Why? I don’t know, but I guess if he feels like marking his territory like that, I can comply. It is not as though I have any real interest in her other than as a risk to the band. Or as a risk to my continued sobriety, I guess.
He did agree with me that she shouldn’t be listeningin on our magic practice, so at least he’s not completely without sense. Although if he’d just given me a chance to explain that last time, maybe his anger could have been reduced.
After the tirade eventually ended, he dismissed me and stayed in the office with Fem. I didn’t much care what he wanted to talk about at that moment. I just wanted to get out of there and get some ice on my face. We have a fucking band event coming up. What will people think as I’m signing records, that I scrap like an immature, emotional boy? That I’m not a skilled enough fighter to protect my face?
Now I wish I had maintained the presence of mind to listen at the door and understand what he wanted to talk to Fem about. Of course, if my head hadn’t still been spinning, I would have thought to do so. Messiness such as this isn’t like me.
