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I don’t know if I can watch him stitch himself without throwing up, let alone close the bullet’s exit wound, but I must, or Corrado will bleed out. The man mentioned units of blood in case Corrado needs them. I wouldn’t know how to administer blood if he passes out. In which case, he might die on me. So I better pussy up and gulp down the bile rising from my belly.
Swallowing, I search the cupboards for a bowl. I grab one, just in case.
“What’s that for?” Corrado asks.
“In case I want to throw up.”
“The bathroom’s behind the kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
“Get on your knees.”
“Hm?”
“On your knees, Michela, so you can watch closely and learn.”
“Right.” I kneel and look up at Corrado, who smirks. “That’s a sight for my sore eyes,” he says before he threads the needle through his flesh. He’s focused on what he’s doing, his mouth slightly open, his tongue peeking between his lips. It’s like he feels no pain, but I’m sure he does.
If it were me, I’d be screaming like a colicky baby.
“Corrado?”
“Find a pair of gloves and put them on.”
I do as asked. “Corrado?”
“Mmhm?” He snips the thread before he hands me the needle, then turns his back to me. I scoot closer and take the needle from him, my hands shaking.
“Clean it and close it. That’s it.”
He makes it sound easy. But cleaning an open wound, then closing it is anything but. Besides, my hands won’t stop shaking, and once I barely clean the gaping hole but before I can pierce his skin with the giant needle, I start sweating, the nausea I’ve been keeping at bay rising in my belly.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can and you must. Hurry up. I’m getting dizzy.”
Panicked that he’ll collapse, I stab him with the needle and see it pierce his flesh.
“Maybe use the anesthetic,” he says.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. First time I heard you curse.”
“It comes and goes in times of stress.”
“Are you worried about me?”
The nonchalant tone makes me look up at him. His hazel-green eyes burn with curiosity and something else. Vulnerability. He’s wounded, and he wonders if I care, and he’s asking me directly. “Yes and no,” I tell him honestly.
“Which is it?”
“Both. I’m worried you’ll faint and you’ve lost too much blood. And yet, I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you’re…you.”
