Page 30 of Sadist

I burst through the door, seeing her leaning against the table.

“I amnota whore,” I snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her. “And I amnotgoing to f—” I cut off as I got a good look at her. There was blood everywhere. She had blood-soaked bandages in a dozen places on her body, and she was pressing her equally blood-soaked and balled up T-shirt against her thigh, the jeans on one side dark with even more of it.

She raised a brow at me, sitting heavily on the seat.

“Noted,” she said, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Now, can you do me a favor and get me the med kit in the kitchen, Sweets? It’s in the top cupboard above the coffee machine.”

“What happened?” I gasped. The longer I looked, the more wounds I saw, and there was a worrying amount of blood soaking her jeans.

“Workplace disagreement,” she murmured, her words slightly slurred and her head hanging low. “Octavia, the kit.”

She swayed where she sat, and I only just grabbed her in time as she fainted, grunting as I took her weight in my arms, her legs still tangled in the bench seat.

“Jesus, you are heavier than you look,” I gasped, lowering her slowly to the floor. Leaving her legs propped up on the seat, I felt for her pulse. It was faster than it should be, and I turned my attention to the mess of her leg. The denim was sticky with blood and stuck to her skin, and I ran to the kitchen, finding the kit and dragging it out of the cupboard with a grunt.

Flipping open the med kit, I rummaged through it, pulling out bottles of saline and disinfectant. Theo didn’t even wake as I undid her jeans and yanked them down her hips. Pulling on some gloves, I doused her entire thigh in saline and antiseptic and cleaned the blood away as best I could with the wipes I found. I swallowed hard at the thin wound in her upper thigh. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, which made me breathe a little easier.Surely if it had hit something major, it would still be bleeding heavily?Though…I couldn’t see anything else that would have made her pass out like she had.

Sitting back on my heels for a moment, I ran through every scrap of knowledge I had picked up from my many late nights of binge-watching medical documentaries, while eyeing the contents of the med kit.

As I flushed the thigh wound out it started bleeding again, though only sluggishly, so I pressed gauze hard against it and wrapped her leg tightly, and was pleased to see it didn’t bleed through.

Theo groaned softly, her eyes fluttering and breath catching as she tried to push herself to the side. I helped her just in time for her to start retching, but she brought nothing up.

“Steady,” I murmured, pushing the hair back from her clammy forehead. “Just lie back for a moment.” She looked at me, but it was clear she wasn’t seeing me as she nodded, flopping back against the floor with a hand over her face.

“Theo.” I snapped my fingers in front of her, but got no reaction, and frowned in concern. Gathering up the blood-streaked packets and putting the med kit back together, I returned it to its usual spot and turned to see she had come to, leaning her weight on her elbow and looking dazedly around. I went to her, gently lifting her legs off the bench and helping her sit up.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, trying to push my hands away.

“Oh, yes. I can see that,” I scolded, sighing in exasperation as she made to get to her feet and swayed.

“Here.” I helped her up, slinging one of her arms over my shoulders as I guided her to the bedroom, her steps slow and listless.

“Are you drunk?” I asked. “Or just really bad with blood?”

“Concussed. Twice…I’m an overachiever. Blown up…and stabbed,” she muttered.

“Oh.” I glanced sideways at her. She looked like she had come straight from the frontlines of active war, a thin layer of dust coating her skin and peppered with blood and grazes.

Her legs buckled, and I tightened my arm around her waist.

“Just get to the bed and you can lie down,” I urged.

She barely seemed to register I was there, letting me lead her before collapsing onto her bed.

“Let me get this off you, it’s filthy,” I said, tugging at her shirt.

Theo tried to lie down, and I gripped her shirt.

“Theodora. Arms up or I will cut it off,” I demanded, waiting for her to groggily lift her arms so I could slip the ruined shirt off, surprised at how she didn’t hesitate to follow the direct order.

Oh Jesus.

She was covered in wounds. Bruises were blooming across her ribs in deep purples and blues, overlapping old ones that had faded to faint yellows. She had a dozen or more scars, both old and new, peeking out from beneath tattoos and marring others, each one telling a story I wanted to know.

“Lie down,” I said, and she did without question, her eyes already closed. Concern flooded me. I knew enough about concussions to know you weren’t meant to let them sleep. But what was I going to do…call an ambulance? On what? To where?

“Oh hey, can you send an ambulance to an unnamed concrete prison where I’m being held captive? My abductor bumped her head.”

---