Chapter 6: To Save and To Kill.

ELENA

Brad stormed in all bloodied and sweaty, grabbing his side.

In spite of my predicament, I was concerned for him. “Brad- what happened? Are you-?”

“Grab some towels and the first-aid kit,” he growled. “Now!”

I obeyed.

He grabbed a bottle, slumped onto a couch, and gulped some drink while I fetched the first-aid kit.

I returned to see him struggling to take off his jacket.

I leaned in to help.

When the jacket came off, a wallet - not his - fell to the floor, and he didn't seem to notice.

At that same moment, my eyes caught the wound.

“Uh,” I gasped. “Is that glass?”

Slowly, he began to pull it out, clenching his teeth hard. “Towel,” he groaned as the glass slipped out, blood pumping out.

I shrieked, turning away for a moment.

He dropped the glass on the floor.

“Not good with blood, huh?” he said, smiling through the pain.

My fingers trembled while I pressed the towel, which was turning red fast.

“Shouldn't you be seeing a doctor?” I asked.

“I should, sweetheart,” he said, gulping down some of the drink. “But there’s no time. You're my doctor tonight. And you're gonna stitch me up.”

I shook my head.

“Oh, no. I- I can't. I've never-”

Brad tilted his head back, exhaling a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “You’ll do just fine,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Do as I tell you.”

He grabbed the bottle again and took another swig before pressing it into my hand. “Drink. You’re shaking too damn much.”

I declined, the glass cool against my palm. “This won't help.”

“Drink,” he repeated, quieter this time but heavier, like a warning wrapped in calm.

I took a small sip, the burn of alcohol hitting my throat. If I was supposed to be composed after taking the drink, it wasn't working. My hands still trembled as I held the needle.

Brad watched me, eyes half-lidded with the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s simple,” he said. “In and out. Small stitches. Keep it clean.”

I shook my head.

“It's not like it's fabric.” I murmured.

“Brad. I can't do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, grabbing my wrist and pulling me closer. “Your nos have never stopped me. They won't start now.”

Great.

Even while bleeding out, Brad never missed an opportunity to humiliate me.

I bit back the words lodged in my throat and knelt beside him. His skin was warm and sticky with blood.

I threaded the needle, my breath as unsteady as my hands.

“Right there,” he said, pointing just above the gash. “Go in. Shallow. Don’t tear my skin.”

My first attempt was clumsy. He hissed, his muscles tightening under my touch. I flinched and withdrew.

“Keep going,” he ordered. “Don’t stop.”

I blinked back tears, forcing my shaking hands to resume. In, out.

In, out.

Torn flesh came together gradually, blood seeping out, making my stomach turn.

Each stitch drew a small sound from him.

A hiss. A grunt.

Then he'd gulp more wine.

He had almost emptied the bottle by the time the wound finally closed.

“See?” Brad muttered, voice tight. “Told you you could do it.”

Tying the thread with bloodied fingers, I cut off the excess with scissors before cleaning the area around the wound with a fresh towel soaked in antiseptic liquid.

The smell of the liquid mixed with that of blood was nauseating. “It still doesn't look good.”

“Bandage,” he murmured, straightening up.

He grabbed a gauze pad from the box, holding it over the wound, while I wrapped the bandage into place.

Finally, my work was done.

I exhaled sharply without meaning to, my face damp with drying tears.

Brad leaned back, watching me as though I were a puzzle he'd just solved. “You handled yourself well,” he said finally, leaning back to rest his head on the armrest.

I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on the blood-stained towels. Now that the tension had eased up a bit, I could think.

Why would he bring such an injury home instead of going to a hospital?

My eyes fell on the wallet. Then it darted to the shard of glass.

A dangerous thought stirred within me.

I quickly gathered everything - the box, the towels, the glass, and the wallet.

“I'll dispose of these and serve your dinner,” I said quietly, my heart already racing.

“Maybe later,” he said, reaching for the bottle again.

I stood and walked away.

His voice followed me.

“Next time,” he said, “you won’t hesitate.”

I scoffed inside.

If only he knew.

In my small corner, beside the laundry door, I quickly skimmed through the contents of the wallet.

I memorized the names on the ID card, and against every alarm going off in my head, I took one of the two photos I found in the hidden pockets.

I hid it and the glass in the washing machine and hurried back into the living room to drop the wallet where it had fallen.

Brad’s breathing had slowed to an even rhythm. Pain had dulled the edges of his vigilance as he stretched out, full length, on the couch. He lay still.

At that moment, I forgot all about revenge. I tip-toed into the kitchen, and returned with a knife.

I'd seen this picture over and over in my head, of how I'd drive the knife into his chest and watch him bleed out helplessly.

My nightmare lay unguarded, vulnerable.

It should be simple enough.

My hand hovered over his chest, right where his heart should be, if he ever had one.

I held my breath, recalling all the times he hurt me and enjoyed it…

I didn’t have to do that for long. Everything came rushing back into my mind.

I tightened my grip around the knife, my hand trembling.

Then the needle’s motion from earlier replayed in my mind.

The same hands that had stitched him up now held a knife. The thought should have set me free, yet my stomach churned.

The memory of his blood gushing out flashed, and something shut down inside my gut.

“I can't,” I whimpered, withdrawing my hand, stumbling back into the kitchen, the knife dropping with a loud clatter.

A sick feeling rose in my throat.

My heart raced, as I heaved and emptied my stomach into the trash can.

A shadow slowly fell across the kitchen doorway. I didn’t look up until the silhouette filled my vision.

Breathless, I straightened and turned to see Brad standing before me with a deadly scowl on his face; my soul left me.