The (Not So) Perfect Princess

I become a surgeon

All three of them stared at me. Nobody moved for what seemed like forever.

"Stitches!?" Eily finally hissed, breaking the silence. "And how do you plan on going about doing that, smarts? You're not a doctor!"

"You're right, I'm not a doctor, but I do know how to stitch up a wound." I snapped, glowering at her. That wasn't actually completely true. The section on Injuries did have a part about stitches, and they were much easier than I'd originally thought. You needed to use a sterilized needle and thread, and simply sew them back together. The only problem was, I'd only ever read on how to put stitches into someone. I'd never actually done it on a real, live human being before. It couldn't be that much different though. Could it?

"Besides, you guys don't really have a choice, now do you?" I glared at each one of them. Eily was still mad. Scout looked terrified. Q only sighed miserably.

"She's right." He mumbled, sounding defeated. "Its stitches right here and now, or Scout bleeds to death."

"Q, shut up!" Eily snapped, glancing at Scout, who still looked horrified.

"Well it's the truth!" Q retorted. "It might be painful, but it'll save his life!"

"You don't know that!" Eily argued. "Her "stitches" could get his leg infected and make Scout die even faster!"

"Okay, now you need to shut up."

"Don't tell me what to do! I'm only thinking about what's best for Scout."

"No you're not!"

"Yes I am."

"Not!"

"Am!"

"Uh, guys," I cut in, standing up. "We kinda need to make a decision here. He's still losing blood."

Q and Eily continued their stare down. Neither one of them looked like they were going to back down. This wasn't just about Scout; it was a pride thing too. Q seemed like a people-pleaser to me, the kind of person who would easily give in, but I could tell he wasn't quitting this time-not with a life on the line. Scout's eyes darted from Q to Eily, Q to Eily, Q to Eily.

"Fine." Eily said through gritted teeth. She looked at me. "Do it. But if Scout dies it's on you two." She sat back and crossed her arms.

"Right," I said, walking to my desk at the left of my room. I dug through the top drawer, which was filled with random scraps of cloth and thread. Being able to sew was "necessary" to know, according to Mrs. Bolshire, who I bet hadn't sewn a stitch in her life. Every day I practiced sewing, but it just wasn't my strong suit. I was never careful with my sewing things before, and, not caring if they got lost or broken, I'd toss them in the top drawer without a second thought. I dug through piles of spindles, pin cushions, and rags until I found what I was looking for. At the very bottom of the drawer was a small, shiny needle. I grabbed it along with some black thread, and pushed the drawer closed.

When I walked back with the needle, Scout started freaking out. He sat up quickly and tried to stand up, but he didn't get very far. Q grabbed Scout's arm, stopping him.

"Scout, stop." Q didn't release his grip.

Scout was panicking. He'd acted pretty numb and motionless up until this point. After all, he'd only been conscious for a few minutes and now everyone was agreeing that we should stick a needle in him. I couldn't even imagine what Scout was going through. First, he'd been critically injured (it looked suspiciously like the work of an axe, but I wasn't going to say anything yet) which probably hurt horribly, and then he passed out from blood loss and pain. And when he regains consciousness, he's at the mercy of some stranger with a needle. Scout tore at Q's fingers, twisting his arm around, trying to break free of Q's clutch, but it was no use.