Page 33 of The Sins That Bleed
She shakes her head at me but doesn’t say anything else. I take a deep breath, calming myself down so my hands are steady for what they are about to do. I pick up the kit and get to work, stitching her skin back together.
I watch her face when I pierce her skin for the first time—she doesn’t even flinch. I trust her to stop me if the pain gets too much. I do one stitch at a time, ensuring the skin comes together without it being pulled too tight.
What horrific torture has she been through to tolerate this level of pain without complaint?
I scan over the stitches, ensuring it’s all closed up and I’m satisfied with my work. I cradle her face in my hands and get her to focus back on me. Her eyes roll in her head and I give it a little shake until they focus on me.
“The front is closed now but I need to do your back, mon cauchemar, do you think you can turn around for me?”
Her lips part but no sound comes out. I gently tap her cheek; it’s cold and clammy. My distress cranks up at the thought that she’s going to bleed out in my shower.
“Hey! Stay awake, Valeska, just a little bit longer and then you can rest. I’m going to turn you around and stitch up the back, okay?”
A soft moan is her only response. I rest her head back against the wall and carefully turn her body, using the walls of the shower to keep her propped up. I make quick work of stitching up the wound on the back.
Her clothes are ruined; there’s no way I can salvage them for her.
“I’m going to have to undress you, Valeska. I need to get you clean and into dry clothes, is that okay? Squeeze my hand if words are too difficult.”
I place her hand in mine and wait for her to confirm. It’s faint but she squeezes to tell me it’s okay. I place her hand gently on her lap and unclasp her bra, manoeuvring her around to shed the soiled clothes from her skin and throwing them into the corner of the shower.
I use a clean cloth to wipe her down with the warm water, grateful that her braids have been wrapped in a crown around her head and avoided all of the blood. I take a towel and dry her off as best as I can and cover the stitched areas with a large wound dressing that sticks to her skin. I leave the towel around her.
“I’ll be right back; I’m going to grab you some clean clothes.”
I race from the shower to the chest of drawers I keep my T-shirts neatly folded in, picking the first black one I find so if there’s any blood it won’t be visible.
I run back to her, not wanting her out of my sight any longer than necessary. She’s still in the same position I left her, slumped against the tiles and her usually luminous skin now looks sickly and grey.
I help her slip the shirt over her head and her arms through; she tries to help me but her energy is low. I’m still not convinced this was the right thing to do. Maybe I should have ignored her pleas to not go to the hospital.
What if she gets an infection? What if she dies?
I push the thoughts away, since she’d kill me if I took her there now. I crouch beside her even though there’s not much room in this shower, but I manage to tuck my hands under her legs and cradle her back, careful to avoid the wound higher up.
I carry her out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. She’s so light in my arms, cradled against my chest. This is not how I expected my night to go. I place her on the edge of the bed in a sitting position, holding her with one arm while I use the other to pull the sheets back.
Scooping her back up, I move her and lay her head on the pillows, tucking her feet under the blanket and pulling it up to her chin. I trace my fingers down the side of her face, relishing in the sharp contours of her cheekbones and jaw.
She stops breathing and I spiral.
“Valeska, come back to me and be mon petite cauchemar. You cannot die, we have a deal, remember?” I shout as I smooth my hands over her face.
Her eyes flutter open, I inhale a shaky breath of relief as they strip me bare, the dark brown flashing to a bright red and back again. I’m seeing things again; I break the stare first and back away from the bed.
“I should get you some painkillers and water.” I turn to leave, mentally running through the medicine I have stored, worrying that I don’t have any left or it’s past its use-by date.
“No, need. I’m fine,” she rasps, but I don’t believe her.
“Valeska, I’m barely restraining myself from taking you to the hospital and now you’re refusing pain medication?” My voice comes out squeaky, belying my concern as I squeeze the back of my neck.
“Okay, okay I’ll take them.” She acquiesces.
Relief courses through me and I leave her once again, bringing back what she needs and making her take the pills.
“I’m going to clean everything up, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, Rai.”
