Page 160 of Toxic Temptation
Except I can’t seem to find my doctor’s head. The cool numbness that I’ve come to rely on doesn’t seem interested in making an appearance.
“You need stitches,” I say, examining the wound. It’s deeper than he’s letting on.
“Then stitch me up, Doc. Make it pretty while you’re at it. I’ve got enough scars already.”
The casual way he says it—like this is normal, like he gets shot every Tuesday and goes to get a fucking latte afterward—makes something snap inside me.
“Stop,” I spit angrily. “Stop acting like this is no big deal. Stop pretending this is normal.”
“Itisnormal, Vesper. For me, this is nothing.”
The simple honesty of it hurts. Out of nowhere, I’m shaking, pale, sweaty, nauseous. I turn away just in time, barely making it to the corner before I’m sick all over the floor.
I heave until there’s nothing left, then wipe my mouth with my sleeve and force myself to stand up straight.
When I turn back around, Kovan has picked up the suture needle.
“What are you doing?” I balk.
“You’re in no condition to?—”
“Like hell am I letting you do this.” I snatch the needle from his hands. “You can’t stitch yourself up.”
“That’s normal, too, Vesper. All of this is normal.”
The thought of him alone somewhere, bleeding and taking care of his own wounds, makes my chest tight. “I haven’t numbed the area yet,” I warn him.
He shrugs. “I’m good. Adrenaline’s better than lidocaine anyway.”
My hand hovers over the wound. “Kovan?—”
“Go ahead.” He sounds gentler now. “I trust you.”
Those three words steady my hands more than any medical training ever could.
He talks me through it, even though I could do this in my sleep. His voice is calm, reassuring, like he’s the one taking care of me instead of the other way around.
This is fucking rookie work. I should be able to do this with my eyes closed. Hell, I probablycoulddo this with my eyes closed.
So why the hell can’t I get my head together right now?
The answer comes to me as though my dad is standing right beside me, whispering into my ear.
This is why doctors don’t operate on their loved ones, Vezzy. You’re too close to the situation. You’re too close to him.
When I finish the last stitch, I step back and the full reality hits me.
He could have died today.
If that bullet had been two inches to the left, or if he’d lost too much blood, or if a dozen other things had gone wrong, he could have died.
And I would have had to stand over another body. Say goodbye to another person I?—
The thought stops me cold.
Another person I love.
That’s what this is. What I’ve been fighting and denying and pretending wasn’t happening.
