Open Wounds Book Novels & Stories

Later, lying awake, she would try to reconstruct the decision and find that there wasn't one — not a decision, exactly, more like the absence of a decision to leave, the same category of involuntary as the foot under the cafeteria table, the same thing her body did when it chose warmth without consulting the parts of her that made choices. She sat. She put her glass on the table. She curled her legs up under her in the chair the way she sat when she wasn't thinking about sitting. Derek did not look up. He turned a page. The sound of it was very distinct in the quiet kitchen. She looked at what he was reading — she could see the header of the right-hand page from here, large enough to make ou

“Do you like me like this, baby brother?” His body looked disfigured. There were three bullet wounds on his body; one by his side–close to his ribs, one by his waist–right above his waistband, and the other on his shoulder. They had been covered by a band aid. Just as Hayden stared at the wounds, Jarrod ripped out the band aid, exposing the skin underneath. As the band aid was ripped, the open skin emitted a small liquid, a mixt of yellow and red. Now bare to Hayden’s eyes, he could see that they looked gnarly and a tad bit infected.

Due to the effort, the gunshot wounds began to bleed again. Liam ran behind the bar and returned with a blanket. As soon as the wetsuit was off, the men began to look anywhere but at my body, at the thick, intertwined scars separated by fine patterns. Clive took the blanket from Liam and wrapped me in it before picking me up and taking me to the bookstore. It was awkward to be carried in their arms like a child, but at the same time warm and cozy. Both wounds were on the same side of my body, so at least when they laid me on the couch I was able to cover most of my body with the blanket and not move.

She gave me a soft smile before pulling out her herbs, balms, and books. “This will sting, but it’ll numb the area. Then I can clean up the area and bandage it.” She warned as she opened up a small glass jar. It smelt like swamp water and looked like snot. I held back the urge to gag as she smeared it over my wounds. I winced at the sudden contact. It felt like I was having salt rubbed into the gashes. Slowly a cool feeling replaced the burning sensation.

Sienna’s POV Everything hurt. More than just a little pain — this was excruciating. Leaving my wound overnight like I had wasn’t a good idea. It was pretty obviously infected, the edges swollen and impossible to touch without a jab of deep pain. I took an anti-inflammatory and antibiotic, rubbing a few different creams over the outside of the wound before wrapping it in gauze, the pain making my jaw clench. Idiot, I muttered to myself. If my wolf hadn’t been dormant, a stab wound like that would have almost healed itself overnight.

There are cold metal scalpels in there, alongside the items he’s asking for. When I have them, I kneel by his side. “Put the ointment on the wound.” “What is it?” I twist off the lid. It smells sharp, like alcohol. When I smear it onto the gash on John's side, he shrieks. Blake grabs his shoulders and pins him down. “It’s to kill the bacteria. Wolves heal fast, but wounds can still get infected. Now, sew it up.” “Sew it up?” “Yes. Imagine you’re sewing a dress.”

Thomas gave me a small grin as he shut the door. I let out a long breath. Here goes nothing. I gave my reflection a once over and hissed. What is it about wounds? They can be there for hours, and you barely realize they exist, but as soon as someone says anything or you give them any attention the pain spikes instantly. My cheek crawled with a stinging discomfort. The old woman definitely left ring marks on me. My cheek would take a while to heal. The few outlying scuffs and scratches would heal up fast. I was more worried about the twin gashes, sliced deep enough to produce dark red scabs. They could arguably be black.

He would never be the same. I read over an array of salves, of healing ointments and cosmetic fixes, but nothing about repairing bone or life. It was all surface layer healing. In my witch books, there were no solutions to bringing someone back to life besides sacrificing your own self. I found nothing useful, not even aid for a head wound. By the time there was a stacked pile upon the table, I realized I never found the book I was waiting to discover in the section. I got up to look for it, but it was clearly missing.

Micheal came back with the kit and I took it from his hand, my own hands quickly getting into motion and nimbly working on opening his shirt and throwing it away. The wound on his left arm was raw, it did not heal at all just like his other wounds that were much smaller compared to this one. I grabbed the disinfectant, soaked the cotton swab in the liquid, and began gently disinfecting his wounds starting from the most evident one--On his arm. A small winch slipped past his lips and I blew on the wound to soothe the burning sensation he might have felt and bring him comfort.

I say, looking at her and feeling revulsion that something’s alive in my wound. “Bacteria. You don’t have as much as Lane had, but his injury was over a week old, as I said. Raif has done a good job so far of keeping the wound clean, but that would have changed over time. With warrior training, running, pretty much anything and everything you do allows bacteria to get into an open wound,” she says. I frown and sit as I look back at the slide, watching the nasty little blob squirm around. “Is that what I’m supposed to be looking at?”