Page 93 of Payback
“Please, just let me...”
“Not now, Alison. I need your help.”
His words bewildered me. What could he possibly require my assistance for? As he unlocked me from the chain, he hauled me to my feet and then propelled me toward the bathroom.
“Hey!” I protested.
“Come on,” he urged, his pushes urging me forward.
“Are you planning on watching me pee again?” I asked.
Glancing over my shoulder, I stepped into the dimly lit, spacious bathroom. I expected him to instruct me to use the facilities, but instead, he began unbuttoning his shirt. His expression contorted, as though in pain, as he hastily discarded his shirt.
“In the drawer! Fetch the first aid kit and anything you can find to stop the bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” I questioned, my confusion deepening.
“Now!”
Following his directive, I collected the items he specified. When he turned away from me, a scream involuntarily escaped my lips as I spotted blood trickling down his right side from a wound on his shoulder.
“Alison, take the needle and thread and start stitching me up.”
“What?” I exclaimed, my gaze locked on the blood that stained his dark pants and back.
“I’m instructing you to stitch me up!” he barked.
“Stitch you up? Do you think I have a medical degree? I’m not a doctor. Why aren’t you in a hospital?” I demanded.
“Alison, just follow my instructions!”
“You do it!” I countered.
“I can’t fucking reach it!” he shouted, his focus shifting to me. “I need you to do it.”
“I can’t! Are you out of your mind? You could get an infection, or who knows if there’s internal damage?”
“He only grazed the surface! Now stitch me up!”
“I can’t do that! I’ve never stitched a wound before in my life!” I yelled.
“Do you work in fashion?”
“What?” His question caught me off guard, and I stared at him in utter bewilderment.
“Do you work in fashion or not?” he pressed.
“I... yes, I do.”
“Have you ever stitched clothing before?” he asked further.
“I-I have.”
“Then picture me as a pretty dress that needs mending, and FIX ME!” he growled.
His words left me stunned. I couldn’t fathom how he could compare repairing a dress to mending a person. How had he even sustained that wound? I stood there, immobilized by shock, while he leaned against the counter, clearly relying on it for support.
“ALISON!” he roared, snapping me into action.
