“You’re not healing,” I end up saying, my eyes still on that big wound. The skin around is a mess, dark blood gurgling from the center. It’s almost as the wound itself is alive as it pulses out more liquid.
He nods grimly. “The effects of the Zantrax have worn off.”
So itwasZantrax that he was taking, after all. The knowledge only brings me more discomfort.
“L-let me help you with that.”
“You don’t have to—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as I’m on the move immediately.
I grab a large basin and fill it with hot water. From his medicine cabinet, I take all the items that might help, and find some clean towels. Bringing them over to his room, I place them on the ground and kneel in front of the bed.
“Moe, I can do it?—”
“Stop.” I put my hand up. “You can’t even bend without losing more blood. Let me do it.”
“Alright,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed.
Using a clean towel, I soak it in hot water before bringing it to the edges of his wound. He lets out a low hiss, his features tightening with pain.
I bite my lip. “Sorry,” I whisper. “Just bear with me for a bit.”
He nods.
More carefully than before, I dab softly at his skin, cleaning the outer portion of the wound before tackling the center. The moment I touch the inner part of the wound, the towel soaks in all the blood, becoming a pure red.
Just as I rinse the towel, I note that more blood is coming from the gash. Even if I apply the medicine on top of it and wrap it tightly in a bandage, it’s unlikely the wound is going to close by itself and he will just continue bleeding.
“I think the wound is too deep. I might have to?—”
“Do it,” he grits out. “I can handle it.”
I’m not sure how true that is—both of himandme. I’ve never sewn human flesh before and he’s probably never had needles piercing through his skin. Still, this isn’t the time to dwell on such a scenario. With the amount of blood he is losing, it is paramount to close his wound as fast as possible.
Dashing to my room, I get my sewing kit. I make quick work of getting the needle and the thread ready, but when it comes to actually sewing his flesh, I falter.
“Are you sure you can do it?”
I shake my head. “Yes,” I lie. “I can do it.”
He gazes at me with worry, his eyes glistening. For a moment I’m stumped. He’s worried aboutme? He is the one bleeding out here, not me! Why is he more concerned aboutmysensibilities than his deadly wound?
“Lean forward so the skin presses together,” I tell him just as I lean closer to him to get a better look at he wound. Before I realize it, we’re so close, his hot breath fans over my head.
Focus, Moe!
I take a deep breath and thread the needle through the first layer of his skin. He lets out a pained groan and my hands still.
“All right?” I whisper.
He nods.
I grab onto the other layer of skin and pull the needle through.
His breathing becomes harsher.
“Continue,” he murmurs in a low voice.
I repeat the process, my fingers becoming a bloody mess. It starts obstructing my sight of the tip of the needle. My brows bunch together in concentration so I don’t hurt him carelessly.
