Pirate City

Chapter 8 Stitches

The man carrying Angelo motioned towards the door with his partially free hand. I knocked loudly and when there was no response I opened it, cringing at the squealing hinges.

"Amber?" I called into the dark room

"Here" a voice answered near the back.

"help." My voice cracked. Her small figure rushed towards us.

"EY!" she exclaimed. I was startled by her reaction, she was on a ship with the mafia and this surprised her? "How?"

"It was Stephano." Was all I could make myself say, thankfully, it was enough for her. She shook her head quickly.

"I can't," she said.

"Why?" I couldn't see why she would treat me and not him.

"Stephano had reason." I looked up at her and tried hard to make her see the urgency.

"Please?" I knew please wouldn't help.

"I can give you sutures, you do it yourself." I looked back at her hoping she was joking. She wanted me to do what?!

"No. You will help him. Now please." I commanded, my stomach churning at the thought of treating Angelo. She shook her head again and turned back into the dim room. She returned with a needle and thread and placed it into my upturned hand. I looked at the thread and then up towards Angelo lying limply in the man's arms, the gash on his forehead making a mess of his shirt. My vision started swimming as Amber spoke to the man in Italian and then looked down at me asking where I wanted to take him. I looked numbly up at her and chuckled nervously. I didn't want to take him to my room for fear that his blood would stain the wooden floor.

"Take him to his room, I'll deal with him there." I liked how powerful I felt when they quickly obeyed. I fiddled with the fish wire in my pocket as we made our way to the men's sleeping quarters. I was surprised by how gently the man placed him down, supporting his head as he carefully took his arms from beneath Angelo's legs. I trusted the gentle man to stay with Angelo as I ran to the kitchen to fetch a bucket of warm water and a fresh towel to treat his wounds.

"Thank you," I said to the man, hoping he would understand. I wished there was more I could do to show him that I did mean it. I shook his outstretched hand once and waved him goodbye. OK, now what. I looked over to Angelo lying peacefully on the dark wooden floor, his face crusted with dried blood.

I breathed heavily through my nose and knelt down next to the water bucket. My hands trembled as I reached for the towel and dipped it in the pail of water and dabbed it gently around his forehead. When I lifted the cloth it came back with more blood than I expected, I felt stupid for looking at the dirtied towel. I gagged thinking about how if I hadn't intercepted, it would have ended much worse and my job would be much more complicated than it already was. Even though it was painful to continue to clean the blood off of his face, I did it quickly. The thought of doing it while he was awake made the drive to help him stronger.

IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH DON'T READ THIS PART. PLEASE. I'll tell you when it's over.

I kept my eyes trained away from the sutures and thread. My hands shook as violently but I wanted to fix him quickly, the image of doing stitches on a conscious person still burned strong in my mind. I lifted the needle to his forehead and let my wrist rest on his hairline to steady my hand. My vision blurred further as I pierced the first layer of skin, his blood quickly soaking my cold hands. His skin was stiff with swell, it was difficult to penetrate through the deeper layers. It's not real. oh god.  I pushed the needle further in, under the open skin, and up through the other side of his bleeding laceration. Although I was nowhere near finished, I felt proud of myself for getting so far and not having nervous breakdown. Kind of.

The thread proved to be difficult to tie, it was too stiff to stay in a simple granny knot. I tied the knot that Amber had taught me for fishing lines which, fortunately, worked quite well. 

Now to do it all again.

I repeated the process; puncturing the first layer of skin, almost passing out, going further down, fuck was that too far?, pushing under his cut, the relief when it came up again on the other side, trying to tie the bloody string.

Puncturing skin, nausea, sliding under his cut, watching it come up the other side, tying it off, wiping the wound with the cloth. one more. 

Through the skin, down, under, up, tie. I was getting good at it, once I found a rhythm it was easier. I was too focused on the sutures to feel anything for Angel, although it was mostly my fault it had gone so far.

When I was finished, I washed my hands in the pale which by now had been dyed almost the same colour as his blood. I took the damp cloth and dabbed it firmly on Angelo's forehead, feeling pleased with my work.

Ok, it's over now <3

I felt a kind of relief that I didn't think was achievable in my circumstances, my hands still shook but I felt like I could finally breathe. My brain couldn't compute what I had done but I knew that without me Angelo would have been dead. I felt dizzy at the realization that I had done it. It was over.

I left the room to fetch a bandage to wrap his head. Angelo stayed, still unconscious, in the dirty room with the damp towel wrapped tightly against his forehead.

A spot in the carpet was wet with the water I had used to helplessly try to clean his blood. There was no point really, it was the same with red wine, no matter what I did it didn't come out. 

I may not be able to clean a carpet but I saved a life.

Ty for reading this far!