Wanderlust [Lesbian Story]

III

Taking the medical items to the examination table, I noticed that the patient was looking at me with a curious glint in her eyes. I dropped the bottle of anesthesia, syringe, and sutures, on the table and faced her with a raised brow when I saw her looking at me curiously. "What?"

"What's your name?" she asked, eyes still droopy and breathing like she's carrying weights on her chest.

I rolled my eyes and opted to ignore her question. "Let me check the wound." I wanted to say 'Alex' but I know I shouldn't.

Not to a stranger who appeared at my door step in the middle of the night.

The woman in a bloodied suit carefully removed the bandage from her shoulder. A low whimper escaped her lips when the cloth was torn from the dried blood, dropping the bloodied bandage on the table.

With a cleaning kit ready, gloves on and dabbing a cleaning solution on three cotton balls, I turned my attention at the blood clotted wound. "This will hurt," I warned her. Without waiting for her response, I gently cleaned the surrounding area of the wound, giving me clear view of the open wound. While I was cleaning it, not once did she moaned in pain. Just taking deep breaths.

"What happened to you?" I asked curiously.

"I was stabbed," her answer was raspy yet I could sense a hint of amusement in it.

Pressing a bit harder on the wound, she flinched and groaned a bit. A punishment from being a smart-aleck.

"Had an all-out brawl at the local bar. Someone pulled a knife and left it on my shoulder," she explained briefly. "I have to return that knife to him though."

I let out a scoffed at her attempt to joke. "I don't think that person needs it anymore."

She grinned and nodded. "Perhaps. Still, better to give than to receive, don't you agree?"

I ignored her question and concentrated on her wound.

After cleaning the wound, I examined it carefully and breathe easier when the cut finally stopped bleeding. "You need stitches for this," I said, remembering that such lacerations should be closed immediately. Avoiding infections that could worsen the situation. "Let me just get the anesthesia—" I was about to get the anesthesia but she grabbed my hand, stopping me from taking the bottle. Turning to her, she merely shook her head, rejecting the idea I proposed.

"No need for that. Just go on and do the stitches," she said tiredly. "I really need to sleep and I can't do that with a gaping hole on my shoulder. I would rather have virgin's blood on the sheet than my own, thanks."

It's a bit annoying how she sounded bossy and so full of herself. Then again, I would be too if I got myself stabbed and there's no available doctor in the neighborhood. Taking a deep breath, I took the suture and gave her one final look, silently asking her if she was sure.

"Not my first time, dear," she teased, lazily grinning at me.

I rolled my eyes and started with the stitches, wondering how she would deal with it without any anesthesia.

Every insertion of the needle, there was a hard 'popping' noise, and I could feel her shoulder twitching a bit. How the thread went through the flesh and skin, feeling how it ran on the woman's flesh. I could feel the pain of being pricked by a needle, having injections, but no anesthesia for a surgery? I looked at how my patient was doing while I was closing up the wound and my jaw dropped.

Nothing.

I heard nothing from her all throughout the stitching process. She jerked a few times, twitched too, but that's just it. No screaming or even moaning from pain.

After closing the wound and carefully dressed it with bandages, I checked my sudden patient's silence. Fear engulfed me like a blanket at the sudden thought of her

The suit-clad woman was leaning back on the wall with her eyes closed and lightly snoring. She looked so relaxed and it was like she didn't pull a knife from her shoulder or me stitching her wound close.

"How could she—" Before I could even finish my words, I remembered how she easily removed the knife from her shoulder could mean she has high pain tolerance. With a sigh, I shook my head and assisted the injured woman down on the examination bed.

It was that or carry her upstairs to my bed – which I dare not to consider.

With the patient finally sleeping in a somewhat comfortable position, I began to wonder who she was and what happened for her to be wounded like that.

Ross was a known doctor within the small town but for someone to barge in the clinic and know where the items she needed were located—I could assume this woman was no stranger to my acquaintance.

I checked the small desk clock on Ross' table and found that it was already 3:20AM. "Better call Ross in the morning," I whispered.

With the patient sleeping, I finally felt the stress from seeing a stabbed person and doing surgery on that person. My body was heavy and I decided to call it a day and check up on my unexpected visitor in the morning.