Page 91 of Bad Attitude
“I’m going to scrub up,” Steven says, rising. “There are scissors in my case. Get his shirt off, please. His pants when you’re done with that.” He pauses, giving me a swift assessment. His hand grips my arm. “You’re doing well, Raven. Try and keep him talking, too.”
I nod. “Right.”
His case is full of medical supplies, but the scissors are on top and obvious. They’re heavy-duty with a flat lower blade.
“Going to cut your clothes off.” I try to inject some energy into my voice. “You’ll want to be awake for this; it’s your kind of kink.”
“Am awake,” he murmurs, the words hard to make out. His lips give half an attempt at a smile.
The blade slides easily beneath the hem of his shirt, sharp enough to slice through almost without needing to cut. Maybe because the material’s soaked in his blood. His skin is pale beneath his tattoos, clammy to the touch, and stained rust-red all down his side. The hole in his flank is almost neat, the size of a fingertip, the skin around it swollen and tight.
I don’t want to move him to pull his shirt away, so I cut up to his shoulder and peel it across his chest, hoping that’s enough. The skull on his chest grins up at me, and I look away. I’m going to have words with that thing when this is done and he’s better.
“Shame about your pants,” I tell him, wondering how best to cut them off. Steven isn’t back yet. I decide to start with the hem, and though I have to actually cut this time, the sharp scissors make short work of the leather.
“Didn’t bring… clothes.”
That’s a fair point. Declan is going to be naked in my apartment for a while. Alas, woe is me.
“We’ll Amazon.” Choose some from China with at least two-week shipping. “Are you going commando again today?”
His lips quirk briefly, but he makes no answer. I figure that as a yes.
Steven comes back in as I’m cutting up toward Declan’s knee. He checks my progress with a glance. “Good. Keep going.”
“But the wound…”
“Yes?”
Fine, guess I’m the nurse. I grit my teeth, lift theleather away from Declan’s leg as best I can, and continue to cut upward, taking every care not to risk touching his skin with the scissor blades. He still tenses as the material pulls around his thigh, and tears prickle my eyes as I know I’m hurting him. I blink them back angrily, focusing hard, not wanting any distractions from what I’m doing.
Then I’m past the wound, and almost up to his hip. The leather falls open, and the wound is way worse than the one in his side, with a more jagged hole half-closed by significant swelling, the flesh around it puffy. It’s bruised too, a deep purple-black spreading outward. How he could ride like that is beyond me, let alone walk on it.
It’s not the only thing revealed. His leg has a tattoo that winds around, thick black linework, spiraling from lower leg to thigh, like stylized flames reaching up. I saw it before but hadn’t had a close look; last time I was near his legs I was… focused on other things.
“That enough?” I ask Steven.
“All the way, please. As much space to work with as I can get.”
Guess they’re coming off.
I cut up through the waist band, and there’s bare skin beneath, as usual. Declan lies still, not even reacting. “Do you even own underwear?”
That raises a smile, more response than I’ve had for some time.
“Tuck the material beneath him, please,” Steven says, filling a syringe from an inverted glass bottle. “Can’t risk it being in the way.”
I shove the flap of leather between Declan’s legs, the task strangely intimate. It doesn’t help that his hip’s naked, the side of his groin, and he’s lying in my bed.
The sheets are stained red beneath him.
“Good,” Steven says again, pushing the syringe into Declan’s cannula like he’s done it a million times. “Come around here, please.”
“What’s that?”
“Ketamine. He’ll feel less, but stay conscious.” He hands me the empty syringe and nods to his case. “Put it in the yellow sharps box. I’m going to wash this out.”
Steven hums to himself while he works, flooding the wound with saline that runs pink into my mattress. Declan lies still and pale. His shivering has stopped, his chest rising and falling more evenly. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, and don’t want to distract Steven by asking. He doesn’t seem bothered, but I’m not sure what flustered would look like on this strange, small man.
