Anything But Ordinary
Chapter Five - 67 Stitches
Once the cops had taken my statement, questioned my friends and the owner of the club, and dragged the maniac away in cuffs, we had finally gone to the hospital like Jace wanted. It took sixty-seven stitches to close all of my wounds. Sixty-seven winces, sixty-seven stints of tightening my grip on Jace’s hand so that he grimaced, too, and sixty-seven times the doctor was probably thinking about what a wimp I was. In between the fiftieth and fifty-first, I slumped back against the wall. My sweet, concerned boyfriend looked at me, worry furrowing his brow.
“Eva?” He asked, masking all but a hint of frantic disquiet in his voice. “Sweetheart, do we need to take a break?”
“No, I’m just tired.” I replied softly, turning to the doctor. “Carry on, ma’am. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
On number sixty-five, I looked up at Jace lovingly and told him how glad I was that he was with me. And then I said, still smiling pleasantly, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
When she was finished, the doctor bandaged all of my wounds, telling me to keep the stitches dry for at least forty-eight hours.
“Thank you so much,” Jace and I said simultaneously, and he steered me out into the hall with a steadying arm around my waist.
“Sorry about vomiting in your trash can!” I called over my shoulder on the way out.
Jace and I kept a conversation going for about five minutes in the car, but I was so exhausted that my eyes were closing of their own accord. Before we’d even made it halfway to our apartment, I had fallen asleep with my head against the window.
“Eva?” He asked, masking all but a hint of frantic disquiet in his voice. “Sweetheart, do we need to take a break?”
“No, I’m just tired.” I replied softly, turning to the doctor. “Carry on, ma’am. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
On number sixty-five, I looked up at Jace lovingly and told him how glad I was that he was with me. And then I said, still smiling pleasantly, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
When she was finished, the doctor bandaged all of my wounds, telling me to keep the stitches dry for at least forty-eight hours.
“Thank you so much,” Jace and I said simultaneously, and he steered me out into the hall with a steadying arm around my waist.
“Sorry about vomiting in your trash can!” I called over my shoulder on the way out.
Jace and I kept a conversation going for about five minutes in the car, but I was so exhausted that my eyes were closing of their own accord. Before we’d even made it halfway to our apartment, I had fallen asleep with my head against the window.
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Thanks for reading.<3KT