Page 43 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

“Uh—that one was from a blade.”

“A knife?” I say in horror. “Why?”

“It was just a disagreement,” he says casually, avoiding answering me in any specific detail. It annoys me, but I need to focus on helping him right now.

I sit on my knees between his legs. He lifts his arm up, holding it behind his head so that I can look at the wound running over the front of his ribs. It’s deep. A gash. And there is a small piece of glass still stuck in there.

“Oh no. I need to get that out,” I say, feeling a bit queasy.

“It’s okay. It’s just a small piece. It’s not the one that did all the damage. I think it’s from when I kicked the door open. The kit is under the basin; you’ll find everything you need in there,” he explains, gesturing towards the vanity. “There are painkillers in there, too. You can hand me a couple of them.”

Still on my knees, I lean towards it and open the door, finding the big red medical bag easily.

I pull it towards us, opening it so that he can see inside as well.

“There. The tweezers. And that brown bottle, that’s disinfectant.” He talks me through the items I need, and I pullthem out, one by one, setting them in a row on the edge of the bath.

My eyes trace over his scars again, and I wonder how many times he’s done this before.

“What’s that one from?” I ask, touching a round scar, slightly raised, just above the line of his belt.

“A bullet,” he says. Nothing more.

“You got shot?” I snap in horror.

“They missed all the risky parts,” he grins.

I want to push him for more information. I still want an answer about what’s going on, but right now, the wound is the only thing that matters.

My hands are shaking slightly when I pick up the long-nosed tweezers.

“Move slowly,” he reassures me. “Get a strong grip on the glass.”

I grip the piece of glass, hesitate, flinch when he flinches, apologize, and try again.

This time, I hold my right hand steady with my left hand and grip the glass with more confidence.

“Good, now pull it out,” he says tightly.

It was a bigger piece than I thought, and I gag as it slides out of his skin, causing fresh blood to flow from the wound.

I splash disinfectant onto a piece of clean gauze and press it against the gash.

He grunts, holding his breath as the disinfectant seeps into his skin.

After disinfecting, I have to pour white powder over it to stop the bleeding. Then I clean everything around the wound, wiping the blood away. Nestor is very quiet, and his fingers are gripping the edge of the bath so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Mm.” He nods, his teeth clenched together.

“It’s really bad. I think you need stitches.”

“No, there is a special tape in the bag. It mimics stitches. It’ll be fine. Find the one that’s called Second Skin Sutures.”

He talks to me through it.

It’s two pieces of tape with additional threads on the sides. A piece gets put on either side of the wound, then I have to pull the sides together using the threads, which interlock over each other. I’m surprised by how well it works to pull the wound closed.

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