Page 63 of The Night Shift
Smiling, I lean back and take laboured breaths through my mouth, watching as she uses the forceps to expose the side of my wound to check how deep it really is.
“I don’t have any lidocaine so try not to scream or else I’m going to sew your mouth shut.”
I laugh and the pain webs my body like a fine mesh to coat the numbness. Teeth gritted, I grind out, “Y-yes…ma’am —”
Holly pushes the needle through my skin at a 90-degree angle about a centimetre to the right of the wound and a tight cry escapes my mouth. MOTHERFUCKER! My skin splits beneath the ligature. Ihearit. Tears sting my eyes, the pain in my torso radiating up my chest and into my neck. I think I’m going to pass out. Once she’s gone deep enough, I feel her twist her hand clockwise and the needle starts tearing through my skin, coming up on the other side of the wound.
Yup. Definitely going to pass out.
She pulls the thread through the raw edge of the cut and pierces the other side with the curved needle. If I have to give my pain a colour, it would be white for Holly’s top or yellow for her pretty hair. If I have to give it a texture, I would say it’s smooth, simply because everything is just passing me by like I’m sliding through a tunnel until that moment of absolute relief when I feel the touch of her thumb passing over my skin about a centimetre to the right of the wound. She releases the needle and uses her left hand to hold the thread, wrapping it twice around the tip. Pain slides down my throat.
“Don’t for a second think I’m doing this to help you,” she mumbles. “I just need you awake and conscious for the hundred and one questions I have for you — stop fucking bleeding all over the place!”
I let out another pained whimper, a flush climbing up my neck and into my cheeks.
Eyes still down, Holly pulls the long part of the thread, creating an overhand knot, then moves on to the next step. The entire time I keep looking at her face, trying to count her freckles in an attempt to distract myself. There are seven sprawled across her nose and cheeks. They’re hardly visible from a distance, but up close they look like a constellation yet to be discovered. She drops her head and starts inspecting my ribs, tracing each one with her gloved fingers, her breathing warming my skin as she does. A tingle gathers at the base of my spine, radiating outward until it blankets every inch of my skin. I tilt my head as I watch her, smiling softly at the delightful impossibility of such perfection existing at the same time as me. The ends of her hair brush past my torso and a current fires through my trembling flesh. I’ve turned into a mad man desperate for her touch. Jesus,fuck. This girl.
Five overhand knots later, she’s finally done fixing me up. I try to sit up. The pain is still there, but it’s more of a throbbing ache now. Bearable. Numb. Without looking up, Holly cuts the extra thread with her teeth. It’s embarrassing how much the sight turns me on. I want her to do it again. I want to slowly run my fingers through her hair andwatchher do it again. She tears the bottom half of the white shirt and uses it as a bandage, wrapping it around my torso to hold the stitches in place.
“Well, I can’t wait to…returnthatfavour…”
Her fingers graze past my waist, her touch like a hot brand on my skin.
She tightens the makeshift bandage and leans back up, not a shroud of amusement on her face. “Enough with the fucking games, Theo,” she snarls and grabs her scalpel from the dashboard, pointing its blood-stained tip at my face. “Whywere you following me?”
This time I don’t dare offer another sarcastic quip. Holly has clearly reached her limit for tonight and I’m not keen on getting stabbed a second time. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her face scrunches. “What do you mean?”
A soft buzzing sound interrupts our precious moment. Holly’s suspicious glare pins me to my seat, and she deliberates for a long moment before pulling out her phone from her pocket. Her face softens as she types out a reply to the message on her screen, but then two seconds later I feel my own phone vibrate in the back pocket of my trousers, and I know it’s all about to go to shit.
She gets another message. Anotherbuzz.
Another message. Anotherbuzz.
Another message. Anotherbuzz.
The process repeats itself for about four seconds before Holly’s eyes flick toward me. Skeptical and narrowed. “What is that?” she demands.
I play it cool. “What is what?”
“That sound.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, love.”
A crease deepens between her brows. “Where’s your phone?”
“At home,” I say flatly and way too fast.Fuck.
She peels off one nitrile glove and sticks her palm out. “Give it to me.”
“Why?...I mean, I-I don’t have it —”
“I won’t ask again,” she says. The longer she stares at me, the more my resolve crumbles.
I sigh. “Back pocket. Try not to cop a feel in the process.”
Holly’s responding smile is downright feral — one that significantly lessens my chances of not getting stabbed again. My pulse pounds. My gaze rests on her throat, tracing a line to the center of her body. She bends over on all fours and grabs my shoulder, urging me to lift my ass, giving her access to mypocket. She shifts forward, practically shoving her tits in my face, and my jaw clenches.
