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What Have I Done?

Chapter Twenty-Eight: What Have I Done?

"I'm sorry, what?" I sputtered.

"If it's not clotting even with you all putting pressure on it, then it has to be sealed."

There was a beat of silence as I let that sink in. And then I steeled my spine and said, "Walk me through it."

With Brandon's voice in my ear, I grabbed a small knife, a lighter, and my bottle of whiskey and headed back to Vincent. He eyed me when I sat everything on the table. His face was pinched, that muscle in his jaw feathering at a rapid beat. I still had the phone tucked between my shoulder and my cheek, but I dropped it onto the coffee table next to me and hit speaker. Brandon's voice echoed through the silent room just a moment later.

"You got everything?"

"Yes."

Vincent met my gaze. He nodded, barely more than a dip of his chin, and I knew that he had already figured out what I was doing. Without a word, I passed him the whiskey. He lifted it to his lips, and I tried to ignore the trembling in his hands. He took a few long pulls before he handed it back to me. With a bracing breath, he removed the shirt.

Blood spilled as if it had never been covered. Both of us let out a barely audible curse as I splashed a little of the whiskey over his stomach. Vincent winced as I flicked the lighter and held the flame to the blade. Brandon's voice on the phone became a buzzing background noise. All I could focus on was the metal in my hand. Slowly, way too slowly, the knife began to change colors. When it was what I would assume the color of fresh magma would be, I raised my eyes to Vincent's again. Even with everything going on, he still let his ghost of a smile tug at his mouth.

"Do you trust me?" I asked, flicking the lighter off.

He nodded. "More than anyone."

"Hey!" two voices chorused from the phone.

Laughter bubbled in my throat, but I choked it down. Vincent had accomplished his goal – keeping me from freaking out. Fast as an adder, I pressed the blade into the hole in his abdomen. He hissed, the sound mixing with the sizzling coming from his skin. Forcing down the urge to vomit, I repeated the process a handful of times before the wound was sealed. It was over quicker than I had anticipated. The rancid smell of burnt flesh tickled my nose, and I nearly gagged again.

"Brandon, what now?" I called, heading into the kitchen again to grab paper towels. I doused them in warm water before heading back to Vincent. His skin had fully turned to that sickly pallor, but there was a warm smile on his face when his eyes settled on me. I sat back down on the coffee table, beginning the process of mopping up the blood.

"Just cover it with some bandages. I'll look at it when we get back. I might need to reopen it to stich it properly, but that should keep him from dying on us before we get there."

"I'm not going to die," Vincent grumbled, his head tilted back against the couch.

"You damn well might have," I told him, keeping my touch gentle as I got up as much of the blood as I could.

Brandon assured me that they'd all meet us here as soon as they could. In the meantime, I was to make sure Vincent didn't aggravate his wound. I clicked the 'end call' button and slid my phone to the other side of the table. As it sank in that the blood had finally, truly stopped flowing, the full force of what happened hit me. The adrenaline leeched from my veins, and it left a biting chill in its wake. My teeth started chattering, and I had to fight back a sob.