Page 20 of The Sins That Bleed

I try not to dwell on her staccato speech; if I let myself think about what it might mean I will go back on my promise to not get her to the nearest hospital.

I reluctantly leave her as I move through my apartment like a tornado, collecting everything she mentioned.

I find her bag by the window and grab it on my way back to her.

I place everything on the floor before filling a bowl with warm water and scrubbing my hands clean.

I kneel before her and see that she’s removed her top to give me access to her wound.

It’s so much worse now that I can see it—a large thin object had been rammed through her chest leaving jagged edges.

And the blood, there’s so much blood.

The dark, sticky liquid is pouring down her chest, bubbling out of her with each breath she takes. I dip a towel into the warm water and begin cleaning the wound. I expect her to flinch but she only tips her head back against the tiles, staring at the ceiling.

“How did this happen, mon cauchemar? Who did this to you?” I softly whisper, since I know shouting or demanding anything from her right now won’t make this situation any better.

It’s at this moment that I realise how vulnerable she is, that she felt as though she could only come to me with something like this. I don’t push her to respond, just focus on the task at hand.

“Long…story.” The words take effort to slip past her lips. “Needs stitching, in my bag.”

I let it go for now and drop the towel, rummaging through her bag until I find a medical kit. I rip it open and find a sewing kit that will stitch her jagged flesh back together.

I place it next to me. “Do you want some alcohol to numb you before I do this?” I know I’d want something to take the edge off.

She shakes her head at me but doesn’t say anything else. I take a deep breath, calming myself down so my hands are steady for what they are about to do. I pick up the kit and get to work, stitching her skin back together.

I watch her face when I pierce her skin for the first time—she doesn’t even flinch. I trust her to stop me if the pain gets too much. I do one stitch at a time, ensuring the skin comes together without it being pulled too tight.

What horrific torture has she been through to tolerate this level of pain without complaint?

I scan over the stitches, ensuring it’s all closed up and I’m satisfied with my work. I cradle her face in my hands and get her to focus back on me. Her eyes roll in her head and I give it a little shake until they focus on me.

“The front is closed now but I need to do your back, mon cauchemar, do you think you can turn around for me?”

Her lips part but no sound comes out. I gently tap her cheek; it’s cold and clammy. My distress cranks up at the thought that she’s going to bleed out in my shower.

“Hey! Stay awake, Valeska, just a little bit longer and then you can rest. I’m going to turn you around and stitch up the back, okay?”

A soft moan is her only response. I rest her head back against the wall and carefully turn her body, using the walls of the shower to keep her propped up. I make quick work of stitching up the wound on the back.

Her clothes are ruined; there’s no way I can salvage them for her.

“I’m going to have to undress you, Valeska. I need to get you clean and into dry clothes, is that okay? Squeeze my hand if words are too difficult.”

I place her hand in mine and wait for her to confirm. It’s faint but she squeezes to tell me it’s okay. I place her hand gently on her lap and unclasp her bra, manoeuvring her around to shed the soiled clothes from her skin and throwing them into the corner of the shower.

I use a clean cloth to wipe her down with the warm water, grateful that her braids have been wrapped in a crown around her head and avoided all of the blood.

I take a towel and dry her off as best as I can and cover the stitched areas with a large wound dressing that sticks to her skin. I leave the towel around her.

“I’ll be right back; I’m going to grab you some clean clothes.”

I race from the shower to the chest of drawers I keep my T-shirts neatly folded in, picking the first black one I find so if there’s any blood it won’t be visible.

I run back to her, not wanting her out of my sight any longer than necessary. She’s still in the same position I left her, slumped against the tiles and her usually luminous skin now looks sickly and grey.

I help her slip the shirt over her head and her arms through; she tries to help me but her energy is low. I’m still not convinced this was the right thing to do. Maybe I should have ignored her pleas to not go to the hospital.

What if she gets an infection? What if she dies?

I push the thoughts away, since she’d kill me if I took her there now. I crouch beside her even though there’s not much room in this shower, but I manage to tuck my hands under her legs and cradle her back, careful to avoid the wound higher up.

I carry her out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. She’s so light in my arms, cradled against my chest. This is not how I expected my night to go. I place her on the edge of the bed in a sitting position, holding her with one arm while I use the other to pull the sheets back.

Scooping her back up, I move her and lay her head on the pillows, tucking her feet under the blanket and pulling it up to her chin. I trace my fingers down the side of her face, relishing in the sharp contours of her cheekbones and jaw.

She stops breathing and I spiral.

“Valeska, come back to me and be mon petite cauchemar. You cannot die, we have a deal, remember?” I shout as I smooth my hands over her face.

Her eyes flutter open, I inhale a shaky breath of relief as they strip me bare, the dark brown flashing to a bright red and back again. I’m seeing things again; I break the stare first and back away from the bed.

“I should get you some painkillers and water.” I turn to leave, mentally running through the medicine I have stored, worrying that I don’t have any left or it’s past its use-by date.

“No, need. I’m fine,” she rasps, but I don’t believe her.

“Valeska, I’m barely restraining myself from taking you to the hospital and now you’re refusing pain medication?” My voice comes out squeaky, belying my concern as I squeeze the back of my neck.

“Okay, okay I’ll take them.” She acquiesces.

Relief courses through me and I leave her once again, bringing back what she needs and making her take the pills.

“I’m going to clean everything up, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, Rai.”

My heart stutters, but I’m grateful when she closes her eyes, no longer getting the sense that she is staring right into my soul. I head back into the bathroom and clean away the evidence of her injuries. I carry the ruined clothes, cloth, and towels through to the kitchen garbage can.

When everything is in order, I bring her bag back into the room and place it next to her side of the bed. There might be something in there that she needs. I glance up and see that her eyes are still closed, so I unzip the bag and rummage around.

I don’t find anything out of the ordinary that will tell me anything about what happened to her tonight. I give up and zip it closed, my knees cracking as I rise to my feet.

I stand there watching her for a moment, trying to contemplate what to do now. I wasn’t tired before I found her bleeding in my shower, but all the adrenaline and worry has done a number on me and I’m ready to pass out.

I decide lying next to her to get some rest won’t hurt, and should anything happen or she needs anything, I’ll be right next to her to help.

I strip out of my clothes and fold them in a pile on the floor, deciding I’ll check them tomorrow for blood.

I leave my boxers on and grab a pair of shorts from the drawer, not wanting her to be uncomfortable.

I climb on the bed, trying not to jostle her body in fear that I might hurt her, moving the sheets with me but not getting underneath them.

I roll onto my side and soak in her side profile.

She’s breathtaking, ethereal even when she’s wounded.

Her long lashes fan out and her lips are stained from her signature red lipstick.

If I were a painter, she would be my masterpiece, but I know I’d never be able to truly capture her magnificence.

“I’m not going anywhere, mon chéri.” Her whisper makes me blush and I’m glad she hasn’t opened her eyes to see it, not that there’s much light in the room.

She at least sounds a little better now, her speech less laboured. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, thinking to myself how absurd this all is, how it’s nearly identical to the dream I had last night. Except she was wrapped up in my arms with my head tucked into her neck.

No holes in her chest or the threat of her dying looming over us like the grim reaper.

There’s one thing I need to know if I’m to get my sleep tonight. “Why didn’t you wait for me in here or my lounge, Valeska?”

It doesn’t make sense why she’d waste energy getting to the bathroom when she could have waited by the window for me to find her. Any other time I’d think it was to fuck with me, but I’ve seen a different side to her tonight, a vulnerable side.

“I didn’t want to get blood all over your apartment. I know you don’t like a mess.”

I close my eyes at her revelation and a tiny piece of my ice-cold heart melts.

That she would be so considerate even with the possibility that she was bleeding out, dying .

The small smile stays on my face even as I drift into sleep, dreaming that her hand is in mine as we lay next to each other in this bizarre twist of fate.