Declan charged into the kitchen, followed, on four shaky legs, by Max. Max whined, his ears slack, his tail thumping on his hocks as he slowly walked toward us before flopping to the tiles. Crying, Declan hugged me as best he could, shutting his eyes against the sight of my blood all over the place.
“I’m okay, little man,” I murmured. “Do me a favor, kay?”
His tears running down his cheeks, he lifted his face to mine. “What?”
“Look after Max. He’s not feeling good right now. He needs a bit of pets and love. Kay?”
Declan eyed Max, then nodded. He trudged toward our dog, then sat beside him. He stroked Max’s ears and down his neck, whispering words I couldn’t catch. Max heard, however. His tail thumped the floor tiles.
“Fuck, this hurts,” I muttered through my clenched teeth. “Can you sew?”
“Sew?” Jacy’s green eyes widened in sudden horror. “Oh, no, Avery, you can’t ask me –”
“Iamasking you.” I stood shakily. “No hospital. This is a clear knife wound. It’ll be reported to the cops. I don’t want them involved.”
“But –”
Ignoring her protests, I made my slow, careful way across the kitchen, then up the stairs. Jacy followed, silent, but her tension vibrated against my back. In the bathroom, I sat on the toilet seat, then unwrapped the towel. Jacy stood in the doorway, her eyes huge in her white face. The knife had cut a deep gash nearly from my elbow to my wrist, the wound gaping wide. Still, it had stopped bleeding.
“Helluva scar, eh?”
My attempt at levity wasn’t well received. She stared at the gaping wound, her hands shaking. If I could stitch my own wound, I would. But I couldn’t. I needed Jacy. I needed Jacy calm and collected. Right now, she’d jump and hit her head on the ceiling if I shoutedboo.
“Look,” I said, breathing heavily against the pain. “In the drawer there. Yeah, that one. There are needles, suturing silk, scissors. Alcohol to sterilize.”
“Avery.”
“You can do this, babe. I trust you. It’s not that hard. It’s like sewing two pieces of cloth together.”
Jacy nodded slowly and found the items I mentioned. My arm would heal faster and cleaner if it was sutured. I needed Jacy to do that. My kind healed fast, true, but trying to heal an open wound would take ten times longer than if I had it sewn closed first.
“Run the silk through the eye,” I said, “then splash alcohol on the needle.”
Jacy obeyed me, her hands still shaking. Slightly alarmed by this, I watched her kneel beside me, then reach for my arm. Her choked sob cut itself off as she pinched the end of my wound shut with her left fingers and lifted the needle.
I dared not flinch. I dared not tense up. When the needle pierced the edge of the wound, the flaring pain all but had me curled up on the floor in a fetal position. My inner discipline forced me to remain relaxed, breathing deeply, despite the sweat trickling down my cheeks.
Thankfully, Jacy didn’t look up. With all her attention focused on sewing my skin together, her trembles ended and little by little, she was able to complete her job. Though I hoped the pain would ease after a time, it didn’t. Even after she finished bandaging my freshly sutured wound, the burning agony continued.
I bent my head and shut my eyes, sweat dotting my entire face.
I heard Jacy wet a cloth, then her gentle touch on my head. She wiped the sweat away, cooling my cheeks and brow, dabbing dried blood from my belly. Her kind care sent my heart oozing down my chest to puddle on the toilet seat. Not the best place for it, but there you are.
Jacy cupped my damp chin in her hand and lifted it until I stared into her eyes. “Never make me do that again. Ever.”
I managed to smile. “No, ma’am.”
“Pain killers? Narcotics?”
“Cabinet. Top shelf.”
She gave me two pills from the bottle. “Antibiotics?”
“No need. I don’t get infections.”
With a skeptical grimace, she helped me to stand. “Bed then. And you won’t move from it.”
As she assisted me toward the door, we found it blocked by Declan. And Max. Both stared into my face as though reading my pain there and sorrowed by it. With my healthy arm, I pulled my son’s face into my stomach.
