Grey's Anatomy The First Cut Is The Deepest Novels & Stories

"I’ll make a shallow cut on my hand. You’ll heal it." I nod. She makes the cut, and blood starts to well up. I press my palm against hers. The warmth floods in—slow and steady. The wound closes up. "Good," Greta says. "Again." This time, she cuts deeper. I heal it, and the warmth feels stronger now but still under control.

Jenny passes over the knife like it’s on fire, and Elizabeth turns it over in her palm. Her brain goes cold, calculating. It’s clean, she thinks to herself, That’s good. Less chance of infection. And it’s long enough to get to the bone. Elizabeth raises the knife to the base of her neck. “Ready?” Jenny asks. She laughs weakly. “I’m never going to be ready for this.” “Alright. On three.” She nods. “One.” Elizabeth starts the cut, and she screams in agony.

She sighs. I feel a little number as they wheel me to the OR but they don’t put me to sleep. I watch as the doctor grabs the scalpel and he looks at me, “1005, hold still.” He cuts into me and I feel every bit as I scream but the chains are strong and I can’t move. I close my eyes and drift once more- I am going to torch this place to the ground the first chance I get.

I look around and see a tray of medical instruments; I stretch and reach one of the sides, yanking it towards me. The tray comes flying and without even trying, a pair of sharp medical scissors soar through the air and impale my neck deeply. I gasp in pain, and fall back as another sharp thin implement stabs through my hospital gown into my lung. Well that was easy, I think to myself as the blood seeps out, making me dizzy. "Goodbye." I whisper, "I love you Kaden and Kol.. And my boys. I'm sorry for being so useless. You'll be happy now."

“You don't get to question me” I could only boil with anger, “Now be a good girl and get to work” he sat up, his eyes closed, pain was evident in his face. I opened the first aid box and brought out a trauma shear. I cut out the cloth in the affected area in his stomach. It was a knife cut, it was large and deep. “Who stabbed you like this,” I asked as I cleaned the wound. He hissed out pain when cotton wool hit his wound surface. “None of your business” he bit out, as he tried not to show the pain. I pour some antiseptic on a new cotton wool, I should only use antiseptic once but it won't be bad if I get back at him.

I don’t remember reaching for the scalpel again. But suddenly, it’s in my hand. The sharp edge gleams under the flickering ceiling light, the tip pressed against the soft flesh beneath her jawline. My breaths come out ragged, like every inhale is dragged through broken glass and all I see is red. I can’t hear anything except the blood roaring in my ears, and the sound of my own thoughts screaming. She’s sitting here, breathing, bleeding… alive. Why should she be allowed that? “Do you feel it?” I whisper, my voice trembling but not weak. “That little flutter under your skin? That’s where I'll start. I’ll cut just enough to make it hurt. Just enough to make it last.”

A fifth. It hurls itself at Ezra. And I'm too late, even though I reach the Firstblade just a millisecond later. I'm too late. I thrust the knife so deep into the Ghost's neck that it dies instantly. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I hear another body collapsing into the snow. A terrified scream tears from my lips. "Ezra, no, no." I whisper, words so rushed I trip all over them. My hands are frantic as I search for the wound, and find it in his upper shoulder.

With that single sentence, he sealed my fate. The rebels no longer hesitated. They forced me back to the ground and stomped on my hand, shattering the bones. Then they dragged me away and threw me into a cell, declaring they would execute me after they buried their dead. As I was dragged off, I heard Scott say, face heavy with sorrow, "Mia, I'm a doctor. My first duty is to protect my patients." … Snapping back to the present, I stared at the scar that still marred the back of my hand.

They cut deep. Alex froze again.

She positioned the blade at the top of the marked line. For a heartbeat, she hovered. Then she cut. The skin parted under the steel in a clean, steady line from just below the clavicles down toward the sternum. Blood welled, dark and contained. The cautery hissed as she moved to the deeper layers, smoke curling up in faint, acrid wisps. “Retraction,” she said. “Let’s see what our favorite wolf has been hiding.” Ribs spread under metal hands, opening like the pages of a book that had stayed closed too long.