Page 6 of Heartless

“Yeah.” I sigh, kicking my legs back against the exam table. “I uh, cut it on a broken plate.” At her urging, I pull the paper towels away, and she gives a sympathetic hiss as she takes my hand in hers to turn it so the cut faces up.

“Oh, yeah,” she murmurs, touching the edges of the slice and making me wince. My hand is sore and incredibly tender, so any brush along my skin hurts like a bitch. “Yeah, I’m going to have to put in a few stitches.” Dr. Morris moves to the cabinets against one wall, systematically pulling out supplies. “So you cut it on a plate, huh?” she asks absently as I really study the side of my hand for the first time. I’ve put it off until now, for the most part. But I figure this is my last chance to see what it looks like open and gross.

Though it’s a bit of a letdown, honestly. I poke lightly at the edges of the wound, pulling it open just a little on the off chance I’ll see some kind of gory mess hiding underneath.

But I just see red.

“Oh, please don’t do that.” Dr. Morris pulls my fingers away from the cut, her voice disapproving as she brings over a small tray on wheels. “You’re going to get it bleeding again.”

“Sorry,” I mumble automatically, though I’m not really sorry. It’s my hand, after all. I can poke at it if I want to.

Don’t be a bitch about it, Winnie,I remind myself as I watch the doctor pick up a few gauze pads soaked in peroxide.You know what happens when you piss off a doctor.Well, I’ve never pissed off an urgent care doctor, and I doubt she’s as terrifying as a psych ward physician, but I might as well not take any chances.

“This will probably hurt,” Dr. Morris warns, a second before she dabs at the side of my hand with the gauze. I just stare, dispassionate about the blood and the sharp, stinging pain in mypalm. It’ll go away, and I can breathe through it. This isn’t my first rodeo with being injured by broken dishes.

Dr. Morris continues to talk, rambling about nothing in particular while she finishes cleaning my hand and picks up a small syringe. “This willdefinitelyhurt,” she warns, but doesn’t give me a chance to really process the words before she’s poking the needle into my hand near the wound.

“Ouch!” I grit my teeth as my stomach twists at the sharp pain. “Yeah, you’re right. That doesn’t feel great.”

“Honestly, I expected more of a reaction,” Dr. Morris admits, setting down the syringe and picking up her suture materials. “Most people say that’s the worst part. I’ve had grown men pass out when I do that on their hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” I’m not that interested in her words, or the story she launches into about some weight lifter she’d had to stitch up earlier this year. I’m focused on the tingling pressure in my hand, and watching the needle dip into my skin as she pulls the edges of the wound back together.

Slowly, the red of the inside of my hand gets harder and harder to see, and finally all I’m looking at are black sutures and the line of the wound that had been gaping open a few minutes ago enough for me to see the flesh beneath my outer skin.

And maybe it’s a little disappointing that it looks so…normalnow. As if the damage hidden below was all in my head. “Thank you,” I murmur politely as the stitches are concealed under a gauze pad taped to my hand.

“Anytime. Though maybe be a little more careful around broken dishes from now on, okay?” Dr. Morris gets to her feet with an amiable chuckle and goes to the computer to type something in. “And you’re just about done. I’m going to put in an order for antibiotics at the pharmacy. You can take an anti-inflammatory for any pain or swelling. Just wait here for me?” The woman flashes me a quick, perfunctory smile and opensthe door before closing it halfway behind her and disappearing down the hall.

Leaving me with the stupid river painting once again.

Before I can consider drastic action like reading a magazine or poking at my numb hand, my phone vibrates in my pocket, surprising me. Normally my service sucks in here. I can only imagine the person calling me had put out an offering to the cell phone gods to be able to successfully call where there’s very little reception.

But I wiggle my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and put it to my ear, a neutral greeting on my lips the moment it’s in place.

“Winnie?” Immediately I recognize my sister’s voice, and her panic. While it’s not uncommon, it’s certainly not what I want to deal with today. “Hey, where are you? I dropped by the diner, but you weren’t there.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m at the urgent care,” I admit quietly, glancing out into the hallway and seeing no one around. My legs swing off the edge of the exam table, back and forth, heels sometimes clipping the metal surface under me.

“What?”Genuine panic enters Lou’s voice, and I roll my eyes at my sister’s motherly concern.

“Hey, I’m fine. I just cut myself on a broken plate. I’m literally, totally fine.” The assurances are completely for her, so she doesn’t bundle me up in bubble wrap and keep me on her sofa, feeding me lukewarm soup until she’s satisfied I won’t drop dead.

“Okay…” she trails off, and from her tone, I realize I’ve ruined her plans in some way.

“You need me to babysit, don’t you?” I sigh, turning to gaze at the river painting. “Your sitter canceled again? You should fire her, you know.”

“I know,” Lou moans in agreement. “But I can’t ask you to babysit, Winnie. Not when you’re in urgent care. I’m not a monster.”

“I know you aren’t. But…” I lift my hand and flex my fingers, looking at the white gauze covering the side of my hand. “I can babysit for you, Lou. I don’t mind at all. Scott isn’t like a hassle or anything. We’ll watch movies, eat pizza, and, I don’t know, plot world domination?”

“He’s really into world domination right now, that’s for sure,”Lou mutters into the phone. “Are you sure, though? I was going to ask you to stay all night. Brent and I had a date night planned and we have reservations at an Airbnb in Akron. But seriously, if you can’t?—”

“I can,” I argue. “It’s no problem at all. You can just pay me double my rate to make up for it.” I’m teasing, but she and her husband could definitely afford it, no problem. “I’ll be there in…an hour? Probably less.”

Lou lets out a relieved sigh, just as the door opens and the terrible typer herself walks back in, looking as bored as ever.

“I love you, Winnie,”Lou says, though I’m barely listening. “You’re a lifesaver.”

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