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"Please," he says again.
"Fine," I relent, kneeling down next to them and tearing the wrapping off the crash kit. "But I'm going to need you to help me and do exactly as I say. Can you do that, Teddy?" I ask him, hoping he realizes just how serious this situation is.
He nods, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by determination.
"I need an affirmative answer."
"Yes, I can."
"Good. Do you have any clean towels or sheets?" I ask. He nods again and dashes down the hallway. As I take over applying pressure to Constantino's wound, I study his body. Even in this dire situation, there's something undeniably attractive about his hard muscles under his tattooed skin. There are callouses on his hands, evidence of a rough life, and scars from knife wounds and bullet holes scattered across his torso. It's like looking at a dark, dangerous tapestry.
"Can feel your eyes on me, Doctor," Constantino murmurs, his chest rumbling with something akin to laughter. He might be delirious, fading in and out of consciousness, but his words still make my cheeks heat up. "Fix me up right and I'll show you a good time as a thank you." I roll my eyes, trying to ignore his suggestive comment. I've dealt with enough patients that his comments don't really phase me. Besides, I know he won't remember any of this when he wakes up.
Teddy returns with towels, and I quickly place them around and gently underneath Constantino's body. The room is silent except for the sound of our breathing and the ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall. We're all focused on one thing – saving Constantino's life.
I look Teddy in the eyes, making sure he understands the gravity of the situation. "I need you to keep an eye on his breathing and make sure the towels don't start soaking through completely with blood. If his breathing gets shallow or the towels get drenched, I need you to tell me immediately so I can stabilize him. Do you understand?"
Teddy nods, but I'm not satisfied with just a nod. "I need a verbal confirmation."
"Yes," he says, his voice strained.
"Good," I reply, grabbing a needle filled with medication from my kit. "I'm going to apply a local anesthetic. It should help to numb the area while I work."
As I push the needle into Constantino's skin, he stirs and mumbles, "Damn, Doc." I ignore him and keep working, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of his crude remarks.
"Shit," I curse under my breath as I feel around the back of his shoulder.
Teddy looks concerned. "What is it?"
"There's no exit wound," I say, frustration creeping into my voice. "Which means the bullet is still lodged inside. That makes my job a little harder. I'm not a surgeon, so I'm a little out of my wheelhouse here."
Teddy remains silent, and I appreciate that he knows when not to talk. I grab a scalpel from my kit and carefully make an incision next to the wound, avoiding any major veins or arteries. Then I grab a pair of small surgical forceps, pressing against the wound and hoping to feel something hard inside. After a few presses, I locate the bullet.
"He's lucky," I mutter, more to myself than to Teddy. "Another inch to the right and this bullet could have hit his brachial plexus...or even his subclavian artery."
"Would that be bad?" Teddy asks, his blue eyes wide with fear.
"Focus on the towels and breathing," I say, unwilling to entertain his question. He nods and returns to his assigned tasks.
I've always felt detached when I work. It's almost a necessity when this is what you do day in, day out. If you allow yourself to attach, when someone dies on your watch, and they inevitably will, it sticks with you. When enough deaths stick to you, you drown.
Yet, here I am, saving the life of a man who's killed without remorse. There's something about him that keeps pulling me in. It's like I'm hunting for something deep within him, some shred of humanity that might be worth saving.
Deep down I know I'll never find it.
My business is saving lives, but I've never really known one to truly deserve it.
"Alright, hold him steady," I command Teddy as I grip the forceps. Constantino's hiss of pain and a curse escapes his lips as I delve deeper into his shoulder. "Hold him down," I say to Teddy, my voice tense. My forceps are deep into his shoulder, and I don't want him moving and damaging nerve endings. Teddy presses against his collar bone while Constantino mutters a venomous "fuck you both" before going quiet again.
Another few seconds pass, and I finally get ahold of the bullet. Pulling it out slowly, I'm careful not to cause any further damage. "Here," I say to Teddy, holding up the bloodied bullet. "I need you to tell me if this is whole. If there's a single piece missing, then it's likely stuck inside of him, and I shouldn't close him up."
Teddy takes the bloody bullet in his hand and examines it closely. "It looks like it's in one piece," he says, confident.
"You sure?" I ask him, knowing he's more familiar with these sorts of things than I am.
He nods. "Yes."
"Good," I say, relieved. "Then we're going to close up the wound. How are the towels doing?" He looks them over and shakes his head. "Still okay."
