AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, God, it’s still bleeding so bad, Nico,” I whimper.
“I know,” he says softly. “The doc is on his way. Just stay with him, I’m going to try and find some gauze.”
“In the upstairs bathroom,” Dante croaks.
Nico runs to get it, quickly, and returns with the bandages. “Can’t find rubbing alcohol. We’ll have to use the whiskey.”
I look over at him, panicked. “Can’t we just wait for the doctor?”
Nico shakes his head. “We don’t have time. He’s losing too much blood.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dante says, but his words are slurred and I don’t like that. The whiskey hasn’t even had time to hit his system, so it’s from the blood loss.
I’ve seen him injured before, but not like this. Never like this. I’ve never seen anyone this injured before, and there’s something tight in my chest.
What if Dante doesn’t make it? What if the doctor doesn’t get here in time.
“Fuck, I need a needle and thread,” Nico says, not thinking clearly.
“I’ve got one upstairs,” I manage. “On the table, there’s a bag with my sewing supplies.”
What kind of thread and needle did you use for skin, anyway? Did the color matter? I’m thinking nonsense, but I can’t help it.
“Dante,” I say, slapping his cheeks lightly. “Stay awake for me, baby.”
His eyes roll forward again, his hazel eyes glassy.
“I’m up,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and then crying out at the pain in his shoulder. I’m in his lap, still pressing against the wound and when he moves, I lose my grip.
Fresh blood spills down his shirt through the bullet-sized wound. “Where the fuck is the doctor?” I yell, and Nico runs down the stairs.
The doorbell rings and I’m so grateful that I could have passed out. I’m glad I don’t, though because I have a job to do. I have to keep pressure on this wound and I have to keep Dante awake.
I slap him again, harder, when his eyes roll back in his head.
“Ouch,” he complains, but his eyes look a little clearer and I take a breath that I’d been holding.
“Just look at me,” I tell him. “Just keep looking at me.”
“I’m looking,” he slurs, focusing on my eyes.
The doctor comes in. I know him. He’s the same doctor that my father uses. His name is Jimmy Sawbones, or at least that’s what everyone calls him.
He rushes to Dante’s side, crouching down next to him.
Jimmy takes my arm. “You’ve got to let go so I can look at it.”
I shake my head frantically. “No, no, it’s too much blood,” I mumble, but he is stronger than me and gently but forcefully removes my hand.
He rips off Dante’s shirt, pulling it off of him as Dante grits his teeth, almost yelling.
“No bullet,” Jimmy murmurs, looking at the wound with a discerning eye. “But too much blood. Nicked an artery.” He looks over at Nico. “Hand me my bag,” he says, nodding toward where he’d dropped it on the floor.
Nico opens it and brings it to him and Jimmy keeps one hand on the wound while he rummages around in the bag. He’s got a needle and thread, probably better than what I had in my little sewing kit.
He looks at me.
I remember suddenly the last time I’d seen him. My father had been stabbed between the ribs and he’d stopped breathing as we waited, my mother sobbing at his side.
