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“Yeah, well, I don’t really have time for stitches right now.”
“I can take care of it.”
I’m sorry, what?
My brow arches as I eye her incredulously. “Excuse me?”
Her lips purse. “I can do it, trust me.”
“Youcan sew up a knife wound.”
Elsa nods, turning and opening one of the vanity drawers. She pulls out one of those little sewing kits for putting buttons back on dress shirts. My jaw tightens, and she glances at me.
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s more that, one you’re not a doctor, and two you just drank a triple shot of whiskey. But yeah, aside from that, no issues here. All golden.”
She smiles.
Good. If she’s smiling, it means the shock is wearing off.
“Sit,” she nods at the toilet seat. After I do, she clears her throat, her cheeks flushing. “Can you, uh…”
I peel my t-shirt off, smirking at the way she looks away from me.
“The patient’s ready, doc.”
She nods, swallowing nervously. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. But I wasn’t trying to be tough before: I genuinelydon’thave time to go get stitches right now—definitely not at a hospital, not even from the doctor that I know Cillian uses for circumstance like this.
Elsa washes her hands, threads the needle, and then dips it in the dregs of her whiskey to sterilize it. She leans down to my shoulder, takes a deep breath, and then gets to work.
I grimace, but watch as she deftly pushes the needle through the clean edges of the knife cut. She works slowly, but shedoesclearly know what she’s doing. Which is…a little curious.
“How do you know how to do this?”
“My mother.”
“She was a nurse?”
Her eyes darken as she inhales deeply.
“My father used to…” Elsa grimaces. “He hit her a lot. Sometimes badly, and oftenwithsomething. She never wanted to go to the police or the hospital, because he was a dangerous man. That, and he always threatened to make sure she’d lose me if he ever got put away.”
Rage boils inside of me.
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “It was a whole other lifetime ago.” She swallows, pushing the needle through once again. “So is the whole ‘show no pain’ routine like a macho thing you do?”
I smirk. “I’m just used to it. I box a lot.”
Elsa nods.
“That, and my oldest brother used to beat the ever-living fuck out of me when we were young.”
She frowns, glancing sharply up at me. “Atlas?”
“Yeah. I think you met him once, when you were still in England?”
