AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Philipp turns away to wash and disinfect his hands. He slips black disposable gloves over his fingers before bending over me, armed with swabs and disinfectant fluid. “This is going to sting,” he warns me—and yes, it stings.
Fingers clasped around the padding of the couch, I endure his over-the-top cleansing. It feels as if he is spraying the solution by the liter onto my skin.
Mountains of blood-stained rags end up in the trash can—and contrary to my expectations, I don’t feel sick again.
“Well…” Holding up his gloved hands right and left, Philipp finally bends over me. With a frown, he scans the wound on my left temple. Then he sighs. “I was afraid of that. The edges of the wound are already scabbed over. If we want it to heal without a major scar, I’ll have to freshen those up.”
What doesfreshen upmean? And—do I even want to do that?
Philipp seems to anticipate my concerns, because he slips off his gloves, pulls out a round mirror from the cabinet, and lets me look into it.
Oh my God!“OK,” I bring out. “We want this to heal without major scarring.” I hesitate, looking at him. “Does that mean, if it can be done at all?” After all, there’s an unmistakable gash in my skin.
“Trust me,” Philipp says. “I have a great wealth of experience…”
Before I can ask, he’s already talking on.
“You’d have to help me, though.” He gives me a skeptical look. “Can you manage that?”
No sooner have I nodded than my hands are doused with disinfectant. In addition, I get pink gloves put on.
Philipp also puts on a fresh pair before handing me a piece of wood about twenty centimeters long. “To bite on,” he orders. “And now lie back and relax. Think about something else—and don’t move if possible.”
Now I feel a little sick, but there’s no turning back.
Philipp is already bending over me. His gaze is highly concentrated; a scary-looking scalpel is stuck between the fingers of his right hand.
Therefreshing of the wound edgesturns out to be quite a slaughter. Although at first, I thought the biting wood was ridiculous and superfluous, I make extensive use of it.
Finally, following Philipp’s instructions, I have to use my fingertips—hence the gloves—to push the skin together to the right and left of the gaping crevice. “Are you going to sew it up?” I ask anxiously, peering at the little table for needle and thread.
“Don’t fidget!” he scolds. “No, I’ll use suture strips.”
Relieved, I let even that wash over me. At the very end, a self-adhesive wound dressing in size XXL is applied to my temple.
“Job done.” Philipp takes a step back and looks at me. Then he plucks the gloves off his hands again. “Right, now off to bed with you.”
Before I can object, I feel myself being taken up. This time the warmth of his bare skin under my hands doesn’t fail to have its effect on me. A soft tingling between my thighs drowns out the throbbing of the freshly dressed wound. With the last ounce of rationality, I hold back the questionIn whose bed?before it can reveal that I wish myself into his.
With swinging steps, Philipp carries me to the upper floor. He pauses in front of the door to the second apartment. “Could you push down the handle and turn on the light inside?”
I follow his orders. “You can put me down.” My gaze sweeps over the stylishly simple interior.
A built-in wardrobe serves as a room divider between the bedroom and living-dining area, and in front of it is an Ikea sofa with a poppy cover, on which Philipp sets me down. On the side, a three-piece mini kitchen with a combination oven, refrigerator, sink, and two hotplates.
I helped him with the tender for the most favorable supplier in the summer…Now it seems to me as if the time of our trusting cooperation was years ago.
Philipp turns to go and stops under the door. “I’ll bring you something of mine to wear, okay? T-shirt, socks, boxer shorts? And I should have a fresh toothbrush somewhere…”
“Thank you,” I whisper, but he’s already gone. Then I pick myself up and stumble over to the bathroom. In all the excitement, I’ve completely forgotten that I haven’t urinated in hours…
When I come back, there is a neat pile of clothes on the sofa table. Since I’m too tired, I postpone brushing with the still-packed toothbrush until tomorrow. Instead, I turn out the light and head to the back.
“Be ready in a minute.” He shakes the blanket into shape in the covers and fumbles the buttons into the holes.
Too bad he put on a T-shirt and shorts, I think as I watch him.
Finally, he’s done, patting the bed invitingly. “Good night.”
