Her eyes went wide and her face paled. “Maybe I should call an ambulance.”
I snorted. “Sweetheart, I’m an EMT.”
Her cheeks turned pink as she gave me a sheepish smile. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“Can you get my kit? It’s in the closet in my room.”
Gia hopped up and quickly went in my room, then returned a few seconds later with my EMT bag. She brought it over to meand I opened the kit; forceps, gauze, a small field scalpel. Thread and needle. Antiseptic. The familiar chemical smell filled the air.
“How can I help?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“You don’t have to—”
“I shot you, ” her voice cracked open, raw and shaking. “So let me help.”
I didn’t argue. She needed this.
I sterilized the forceps, the metal catching the kitchen light. My arm throbbed viciously, like it knew what was coming.
I pressed gauze around the wound until the bleeding slowed. Gia’s breathing faltered each time my face twitched.
“I need you to open the wound with your fingers so I can get the forceps in there. Can you do that?”
She nodded, her eyes watering again. Her hand shook as she brought it to the bullet hole in my bicep.
I clenched my teeth, preparing for the pain. “Do it.”
Pain ripped up my arm in a bright, blinding wave. My jaw locked. Her other hand grabbed my thigh immediately, steadying, grounding, even as she trembled.
“Enzo,” Her voice wavered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”
“Look at me,” I gritted out.
She did; eyes shining, guilt written across every line of her face.
“It was chaos,” I told her. “It was an accident.”
“But it happened,” she whispered. “Because of me.”
I didn’t argue; instead, I focused on extracting the bullet. I inserted the forceps, growling through the pain as the metal tips scraped something inside the wound. Not bone. Her bullet. My breath punched out hard.
I angled the forceps deeper, groaning in pain.
Gia’s free hand shot to my forearm, gripping tight. “Just breathe.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself. “I’ve got it,” I gritted out.
She leaned close, forehead nearly touching mine. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I closed the forceps around the bullet and pulled.
Agony tore straight through my arm, ripping a low, raw sound from my throat. Gia held me steady, murmuring soft, frantic words I couldn’t even process.
Then, the bullet slid free.
I dropped the forceps into the metal tray, the bloody slug clinking loudly. Sweat dripped down my forehead. My breath came hard and uneven.
Gia stared at the bullet like it was something monstrous. “I did that,” she whimpered, voice breaking. “I hurt you.”
