Page 67 of Our Violent Ends
Juliette’s head was too light to respond immediately. She was going to faint. She was definitely going to faint.
“I’ll bite nothing unless it’s your hand,” Juliette muttered. “Raw. And detached.”
In response, Roma merely passed her the blade he had stabbed her with.
“Hold this.”
Juliette reached for it with the arm that did not have a weeping gouge in its attached shoulder, then clutched the blade to her chest, holding her dress up. She blinked hard to keep herself alert, then watched Roma as he shifted to a crouch beside her, making quick work of finding a clean rag in the box and dousing it with the foul-smelling bottle.
It took everything in her willpower to hold back her scream when Roma clamped the rag to her wound. The antiseptic stung like a thousand new cuts, and Juliette had half a mind to ask whether Roma was actually poisoning her instead. His eyes were not on his task; he was scrutinizing Juliette instead, searching for a reason, for the slightest fracture in her face that would give way to an explanation.
Juliette blew out a slow breath. Despite the agonizing pain, she could feel the bleeding crawl to a stop. She could feel her head clear up, the fuzz lessening.
She had a job here to do.
“You’ve been infiltrated by Communists.” Juliette turned her head ever so slightly—not enough to disturb her shoulder but enough to lock eyes with Roma. “There’s a sect in the White Flowers working with them, giving over your resources and weaponry. I suspect the monsters are emerging from this very collaboration.”
Roma did not react. He only removed the rag and retrieved what looked to be a needle and a thread. “I’m going to suture the wound.”
Juliette’s first instinct was to snap that he couldn’t. She had no doubt that he would do a fine job; running about in this city meant knowing how to snap an enemy’s leg with two fingers and also how to piece an ally’s body back together. But was she an ally? Would he piece her together with a steady hand?
Roma made an impatient noise, waving the needle. Though she imagined she could probably get up and get to the hospital with a gaping hole in her shoulder, Juliette winced and relented.
“Wait.”
She dropped the blade she was holding and reached for the lighter in her pocket. Wordlessly, she flipped its lid and struck her thumb on the spark wheel. When the flame sprang to life, Roma brought the needle near to sterilize it without being asked, like he had already read Juliette’s intention. It was easy sometimes to forget how well they had known each other before everything went awry. To forget that they were once as familiar as halves of the same soul, predicting each other’s next words. Here, with Roma absently tapping the back of his hand against Juliette’s, asking her to put the flame away when the needle glowed red, Juliette could not forget.
“Don’t stitch too deep. I don’t want a scar,” she grumbled, snapping her lighter closed.
Roma frowned. “You’re hardly in the position to negotiate the size of your scars.”
“Youthrew the knife at me.”
“And nowI’mstitching you up. Do you have any more complaints to air?”
Juliette resisted the urge to strangle him. “Did you hear any of what I said before?” she asked instead. “About the Communists?”
“Yes,” Roma replied evenly. He pulled the thread into the needle. “And it doesn’t make sense at all. We don’t want the Communists taking the city. Why would we help their revolution?”
Roma leaned in, and the first prick of the needle entered her skin. Juliette gritted her teeth hard but otherwise withstood the pain. She had suffered worse, she tried to remind herself. She had suffered worse simply by smashing wine bottles too hard in New York, which had ended with her needing stitches all along her arm.
At least those had been done in a hospital.
“I don’t know why,” Juliette said tightly. “But it’s happening, and right under your nose.”
Her shoulder twitched, and Roma’s hand came around her arm immediately, holding her still. His fingers were hot, burning into her skin.
“And what,” Roma asked, pulling the thread through again, “do you want me to do about it?”
“What you were supposed to,” she replied. “Find the Frenchman. The monster on the train.”
The needle went in too deep. Juliette gasped and Roma cursed, his grip tightening to stop her from leaping up.
“Stay still,” he commanded.
“You’re clearly trying to kill me.”
“I’m obviously not verygoodat it because you remain alive, so stay still!”
