“There,” I say, placing the steel aside. It was part of the low door handle.
She inhales hard and fast, and I hold her hand as she winces. It’s just like when she was coming.
Coming for me.
“Just breathe and calm down. If you do, you’ll have a story for your crazy grandkids.” I pause, realizing what I’ve just said. “Sorry, I’m sure you’ll have lovely grandkids.”
We don’t say anything. We just share a look, and I force a smile.
She goes to smile, then the pain kicks in.
I don’t have any real painkillers. She tightens her grip on my hand and starts to moan and writhe.
Placing my hand on her shoulder, I look down into her wincing face. “Sam, you need to calm down, do you understand me?”
“It hurts, arghhhh...”
I see the blood coming out; the cut is not good. She needs to calm and slow her heart. Finally, she nods, biting her lip.
“Shhhhh, shhhhhh,” I say, calming her.
I controlled her mind and body the night before. I had also done it this morning. That was sexual. I’ve never commanded a woman like this, just with my hand in hers, my eyes, and my voice.
It’s confusing, but I must calm her more. I head off to get something fast. It’s the next best thing.
I walk quickly backwith a bottle of whisky and two crystal glasses. Sam is calmer already, and the bleeding is slowing.
After pouring two glasses, I hold her up.
“Drink.”
Her eyes hold mine, and she gulps down the golden liquid. Iam taken back to me coming in her mouth. I groan and let her down, knock back my own whisky, and hold her hand.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say.
She inhales and calms. She is now on her back, and I need her to roll over.
“Show me your butt. I mean side.”
Our eyes meet, and she rolls slowly over. I pull on surgical gloves and start to clean the wound. I avoid her eyes. “A little pain is not a bad thing,” I mumble, in the zone.
“You really are a twisted bastard,” she says, fists clenched.
I lean down near her jaw and kiss her sweaty cheek. “I keep telling you that. And that’s why… You. I. We cannot be close.”
I work away, the whisky now warming me. As I clean the wound, I know it is time. Lacing surgical thread into the needle, I prepare to make fine stitches. “This is going to hurt a bit.”
She nods, and I command her to breathe in.
As I drive the needle slowly into her skin, she moans. I continue, but it is putting me off.
“Don’t moan.”
“I. Can’t. Help. It.”
She winces and calls out in pain. “Ahh, fuck!”
“Just don’t moan,” I tell her.
