Page 83 of Deadly Obsession
“I don’t know how to do it,” I say, my breath barely a whisper.
Surprisingly, the blood hasn’t grossed me out yet. I think my concern over Elias is masking that.
“I can show you.”
He sets supplies out on the counter including a suture kit with a packaged curved needle, the sutures, and scissors, some antiseptic and saline solution, soap, gauze, and bandages.
Picking up the needle first, he takes it out of the packaging and strings the thread through the eye. “It’s just like sewing. Do you know how to sew?”
“Not anymore. I did as a kid, though. I sewed patches on my Girl Scouts sash.”
“Perfect. It’s like riding a bike.”
“I fell off my bike all the time.”
“I just mean stitching up a wound is as simple as sewing on your patches.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not and actually my patches fell off because I sucked at sewing.”
“Sage,” he sighs. “If you don’t want to do it, it’s fine.”
“Just… Tell me what to do.”
He searches my eyes for a few seconds before pointing at the needle in my hand.
“Douse that with antiseptic first, then take the gauze and pour saline solution on it to clean the bullet hole.”
“Not alcohol?”
“A misconception. Alcohol can cause tissue damage.”
I swallow hard and nod. I won’t let my nerves show. He needs me to be strong. Besides, I should get used to him coming home injured—
Did I really have that thought?
I’m talking as if we’re married, and I’ve moved in.
Haven’t I, though? I haven’t stayed at my apartment since before Christmas.
“I can do it, Sage,” he says, his voice soft and understanding.
He holds out his hand for the needle, but I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
He cups my cheek. “It’s really not that bad.”
I playfully try to bite his fingers, getting a hearty chuckle from him, which lightens the heaviness resting on my shoulders.
“Blood is leaking out of you, and your arm is soaked.”
“Some of that blood is not mine.”
I hold back my gag and close my eyes, inhaling slowly before letting out a long stream of breath.
Then I get to work.
After washing my hands, I disinfect the needle and his arm as Elias instructed. Willing my hands to steady, I focus on the bullet hole. I sink the sharp tip into his skin. If it hurts, he doesn’t let it show. In fact, he’s on his phone, texting with one hand while I literally stitch him up.
I hate to admit that he was right about the ‘riding a bike’ remark. I even found sewing human skin together easier than sewing Girl Scout patches onto a sash. Or maybe I’m more motivated because if I fuck this up, I could nick a vein, and Elias could bleed out and die. Or it could get infected, and he could die.
