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28: Stitched Together

28: Stitched Together

My cut opened back up. It was horrible.

The pain, I mean. That pain was the reason for my waking at about one o'clock in the morning, after one of the longest naps of my life. I grimaced and rose from the bed. The bandage was soaked. I'd probably rolled or something and disturbed it, but I knew I had to get off these white covers. They'd cost a fortune to get cleaned, which the hotel would most likely make me do if I got blood on it. When I made my way into the bathroom, quite slowly, I took the bandage off to see a large, deep gash oozing blood.

Panicking, I took toilet paper and began dabbing it away. Each time I got rid of some of it, though, more quickly replaced it. Frustration seeped into me and I held down on the toilet paper firmly, hissing in pain. Maybe the pressure would help put a stop to the bleeding.

It didn't. The toilet paper soon became soaked and my hand was covered in crimson as I grabbed more. I was furious at my knee.

Gosh, knee, why did you have to start bleeding? I needed it to stop before I could put another bandage on it. Emmett had insisted on bringing them because he knew I'd need to change the wrapping. It's a good thing I didn't object. But I didn't want to soak them immediately.

I just couldn't get the darn thing to quit bleeding. Maybe the hospital would have something. Maybe Neosporin and a Band-Aid would fix it.

I looked down blankly at the thing, which was raw and about the length of one and a half index fingers, diagonally slashing through over my kneecap. Something told me a Band-Aid wouldn't do it, this time.

Maybe a jumbo Band-Aid.

Nodding, I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and left the room, limping and highly lopsided due to one arm holding a wad of toilet paper to my knee. I received a strange look from a man who was passing me, but I ignored him. At the front desk, a man's eyes widened.

"Miss, are you okay?"

"I seem to have tripped and, uh, hit my knee," I lied. Well, half lied. I did technically trip and hit my knee, just not in the hotel. "Do you think you could point me to a doctor or something?"

Really, I wasn't planning on going to a doctor. It sounded ridiculous to ask a hotel person at the front desk for medical attention, considering I wasn't exactly at a doctor's office. I was hoping he would say, "Actually, you can just take this!" and hand me something to fix my stupid knee.

But he didn't. Instead, he told me to go out, look to my right, and continue down straight and I'd come across a building with the words "Urgent Care" plastered at the top. Smiling in fake thankfulness, I nodded and left. As soon as he couldn't see me, a scowl appeared in place of the feigned happiness. I hobbled back to the room and realized I'd forgotten a room key. My eyes widened and I pushed on the door, hoping it wasn't completely closed.

Sighing, I slid down against the door. I could knock on Emmett's door and get into my room through his, but there was a high chance he was asleep and wouldn't wake up. Even if he did, he would definitely take me to that Urgent Care building to get stitched up.

No one was out and about, so I knew a maid wouldn't come by for me to see. I changed my wad of toilet paper and sullenly knocked on Emmett's door.

"Um, who is it?" he called almost immediately, obviously not expecting anyone to knock.

"Me," I said miserably. "I locked myself out of the room."

"Why did you leave..." He trailed off when he opened the door and saw me, sitting down and nursing the gash feebly. "Louise! What happened?" If I wasn't so distracted by being in pain, I would have admired a very shirtless Emmett. He had so much muscle, I wondered if he was secretly a body builder. But I knew he wasn't; he was practically the star player on the team. He worked for that body.