Page 103 of The Dearly Departed

“Kinda like now, huh?”

“Hmm?” I grunted.

She smiled. “You’re just doing what you have to do.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah,” I muttered with a sigh. “It’s not like I was given much of a choice in the matter.”

“None of us are,” she replied, her voice soft and burdened by the things she wasn’t saying. Things that made my brow furrow and my lips part with unspoken questions.

But before I had the chance to say anything, she hummed a contemplative sound as she rifled through the bag. "Well, I have good news and bad news.”

“Lay it on me, Nurse.”

The nickname rolled off my tongue easily, and her cheeks flushed.

“The good news is, you didn't sever any arteries."

“And the bad news?”

“The bad news is, you nicked a vein, so you did lose a bit of blood. But I think it's safe to say, you'll survive. You just need a lot of water and a lot of rest, and you’ll be good as new.”

"Aw shucks. My plans to die have been foiled yet again."

She giggled a bit, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the sound.

I liked making her laugh, liked making her happy. It felt like a reward, and I thought, If I could stand on the shoreline, listening to the sounds of the waves and that laugh, maybe then I could finally be happy too.

Maybe then I could be at peace.

I’d like to know what that feels like. Even just once.

"You do need quite a few stitches though," she said, rifling through the bag. "Do you want something for the pain or—"

"No, I can handle it," I interrupted.

I didn’t like to put anything foreign into my body if I could avoid it. I’d seen too many lives destroyed by drugs and alcohol to take my chances with anything, even something as innocent as a couple of ibuprofen.

“Are you sure? This is going to hurt.”

“I guarantee I’ve been through worse.”

She didn't argue beyond that and removed a needle and thread. “You ready?” she asked, taking her position at my leg.

I rested my arm behind my head and gritted my teeth before muttering, “Yep.”

The first pierce of the needle through flesh made me screw my eyes shut, and as she carefully pulled me back together, she asked, "You okay over there, tough guy?"

"Mmhmm," I grunted.

She huffed a giggle as she made the second stitch. “You sure? Because it’s not too late to pop a couple of pills.”

I exhaled irritably. “Analise—"

“How about you tell me a story?”

It was my turn to laugh then, before I winced as she made another stitch.

"A story?” I asked, my voice pulled taut by the pain.