Page 7 of Glitter Rose
I work in silence for a minute, cleaning away blood to see the actual wound. It’s deep but clean-edged and on the buzzed part of his hair. The book says that’s good for stitching.
“You’re lucky.” I reach for the suture kit. “If you’d landed differently, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Not that we’re having much of a conversation anyway.”
I thread the curved needle, biting my lip in concentration. The instructions in the book seem simple enough: insert needle, pull through, tie off. Repeat until closed. But the reality of pushing a needle through human skin makes my stomach flip.
“I just have to remember.” I position the needle at the edge of his wound. “The hot doctor was teaching the hot intern, and they were definitely going to sleep together by the end of the episode. But I didn’t really listen to what he was saying.”
He huffs.
“Sorry.” I take a deep breath and push the needle through his skin. He doesn’t even flinch, which either means he’s tougher than I thought or slipping into shock. Neither is reassuring.
“One down.” I pull the thread through with trembling fingers. “Seven or eight to go, I think? The book says to keep them evenly spaced.”
The next stitch goes in easier. By the third, I’ve found a rhythm, though my back aches from bending awkwardly next to him to get the most out of the dim light.
“So,” I say to fill the silence, and distract myself from what I’m doing, “what brings you here? Sightseeing? Door-to-door salesmen still a thing? Or just a fan of tetanus-laced fire escapes?”
“Looked solid.”
“Yeah, about that.” I tie off another stitch. “I might have… sabotaged it. Security measure.”
“Smart.”
“Not smart enough to factor in a ho—people climbing it, apparently.” I finish the last stitch and cut the thread with small scissors from the kit. “There. Not my prettiest work, but it should hold your head together.”
Next comes the band-aid. I spread out my collection, accumulated from various apartments. “Let’s see… we’ve got plain boring ones, dinosaurs, unicorns, or these weird smiley faces.” I hold up a unicorn band-aid, its holographic surface catching the light. “Tough choice, I know.”
Knox’s eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “I don’t?—”
“Unicorn it is.” I place it carefully over the center of his sutured wound, where the stitches look most likely to pull. “The mythical healing powers can’t hurt.”
According to the book, concussions need monitoring, rest, and pain management. I flip to the section on pharmaceuticals, squinting at the tiny print.
“Acetaminophen, not ibuprofen,” I read aloud. “Ibuprofen can increase bleeding risk. Okay, so, definitely noIbuprofen.” I rummage through my pill bottles. “Here we go. And you need water.”
I grab a bottle of Diji Water from my stockpile, unscrewing the cap before returning to Knox, whose eyes have drifted closed again.
“Hey.” I tap his cheek lightly. “No sleeping yet. Medicine first.”
His eyes flutter open, confusion clouding them momentarily before recognition returns.
“Open up.” I press the two pills to his lips. He accepts them, and I hold the water bottle to his mouth. “Small sips.”
Water dribbles down his chin as he swallows, his throat working visibly. I wipe it away with my thumb without thinking, the casual intimacy of the gesture hitting me a second later.
“Let’s get you off the floor.” I stand, assessing the situation.
The leather sofa is only fifteen feet away, but it might as well be fifteen miles given his condition and my exhaustion. Knox understands the challenge and braces himself against the wall with a grunt of pain. I hunch under his arm, and together we hobble to the sofa. He collapses onto the cream-colored leather with a sigh that seems to come from his soul.
“I paid twenty thousand for that couch.” I arrange a pillow under his head. “Try not to bleed on it.”
His lips quirk in what might be a smile.
I eye his right boot caked with street gunk. “This is coming off.”
Knox tenses. “Not necessary.”
“Yeah, and I’m not necessary to your survival either, but here we are.” I flip to the section on ankle injuries, skimming past fractures and compound breaks with growing unease. “Book says to assess for deformities, swelling, and tenderness. Can’t do that with your apocalypse-chic footwear still on.”
