Page 12 of Born in Sin (Phoenix #3)

A wet plop landed on the blank page of his chemistry notebook.

Virat blinked, his eyes stinging as sweat dripped into them, trickling down his jawline and falling on to his book.

His shoulder was on fire, the cotton of his uniform sticking to the raw, oozing wound on his back.

He could feel the dampness spreading across his back.

His only saving grace, he thought, was that he sat in the last row. The only witness to his predicament was the wall. Beside him, Amay sat, darting worried glances at him. Ishaan, as he loved to do, was in the front row, scribbling furiously into his notebook.

“Are you okay?” Amay whispered, leaning towards him.

A shiver racked Virat’s body as he nodded, biting his lip to hold in the moan of pain trying to escape him.

“What’s happening?” Amay had turned fully in his chair now, unable to hold in his concern. “Vir?”

Virat turned his burning eyes toward his friend trying to glare him into silence, but it didn’t work. The bell rang cutting through the protest he could see rising to Amay’s lips.

“I’m taking you to the infirmary,” Amay said, as all around them, kids gathered their things and scrambled to leave the classroom.

“No.” Virat shook his head, lifting a trembling hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Just need to lie down.”

Amay helped him to his feet as Ishaan sauntered over, his bag slung low on one shoulder. “What’s-“

Whatever he’d been about to say died a quick death when he got a good look at Virat. “What the hell happened to you?”

“He’s bleeding!” Amay’s whisper was less of a whisper and more of a shout. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Together they heaved Virat to his feet and dragged him towards the door.

“No,” he mumbled. “Not infirmary.”

“Did that shithead Varun do this?” Ishaan hissed, adjusting Virat’s arm over his shoulder.

Virat shook his head, exhaustion stealing over him. He sagged, his head hung on his shoulders, his friends taking the bulk of his weight.

“No,” he whispered again, even as another trickle of wet made its way down his back. Amay and Ishaan dragged him into an empty classroom, Amay rummaging under the teacher’s desk for the first aid box that was always stored there.

Ishaan helped Virat take off his shirt, a roar of pained sound erupting from Virat when they peeled the material stuck to the wound away. Hurried footsteps approached the door and it swung open.

“Shit!” Ishaan swore, when Celina poked her head in.

“What’s-“

A horrified look spread across her face as she got a glimpse of Virat’s back. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “It’s so bad. Why is it so bad this time?”

“This time?” Amay who was uncapping a tube of ointment froze, his gaze darting between Virat and Celina. “What does she mean by this time?”

“We need to go to the infirmary.” Celina stepped into the room, her face pale and set. “That’s infected. The ointment won’t help now.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fernandez,” Ishaan retorted sarcastically. “But we’ve got this.”

“She’s right,” Amay muttered. “It looks really bad.”

“We don’t need her help,” Ishaan replied, glaring at her. “Go away and play with your friends now. Leave us alone.”

But Celina wasn’t looking at Ishaan. She was looking only at Virat, her gaze locking with his, worry and fear etched into it.

“If you guys won’t fix this,” she said, her voice low and fierce. “I will. I’ll get help.”

Without another word, she turned around and ran from the room. Virat tried to stop her. He tried to tell her that it was the worst possible idea to go to her mother, as he knew she planned to do, but he couldn’t.

As Celina left the room, his vision went from gray to black and he slid to the floor, for once in his life, not feeling the pain.