Stitches Graphic Novels & Stories

All in all, he had recovered quite a bit. This image, however, got severely damaged when he removed the shirt completely. Big parts of his arms were covered in bandages, and one side of his waist even sported three black stitch marks. Yet, miraculously, there was no wound in sight. The stitches in his side seemed completely unnecessary, like they were just an accessory.

"I'll go ahead and remove these stitches." Jason shifted slightly, arms crossed as he watched Jerry's every movement, his gaze sharp, almost protective, though I could sense the underlying vigilance. Jerry worked carefully, lifting the first stitch with a pair of tweezers and snipping it away with surgical scissors, each movement precise. I held my breath, feeling a slight pull with each snip, a series of tiny, almost indistinguishable tugs as the stitches came free.

My gut was telling me now was not the time to ask questions, so I listened to it. The cut was deep, so I applied some antibiotic cream and then a patented liquid adhesive meant for shifters to hold the sides together. It was formulated by Doc to replace stitches entirely for our patrol units. I doubted Emma would want to go for stitches if she was this hesitant to even let me help out.

At that every moment, Damien walked in carrying a little lunch box, a white bandage wrapped around his knuckles, the first two buttons of his white sleeves opened and rolled up to his elbow and his hair messy, like he just got out of bed, making him look sexy and dangerous at the same time, Mystique and couldn't help but blush. Stupid hormone...! "What are you doing here Dr. Theo Martinez?"

Whatever you do, do NOT pass out! Squeezing the jagged cut together the best I can with one trembling hand while trying to adhere the butterfly stitch proves to be nearly impossible and agonizing. Sweat beads across my brow as I carefully placed the last strip of a butterfly stitch over the seam of the bloody wound. It's still bleeding a little, but no longer gaping open on the side of my arm.

Niko There is no painkiller available, so I brace myself as Sven takes on the critical task of patching up the jagged hole left by the bullet. With a steady hand and an unwavering focus, he threads a needle, meticulously preparing to stitch the two sides of skin that have been forcibly separated. Every prick of the needle feels like a sharp jolt, each tug a reminder of the shot endured. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to maintain composure as I watch the world around me blurring in and out of focus through bleary eyes. Bianca's earlier theft of the medical gear now weighs heavily on my mind, amplifying my discomfort as Sven deftly works, weaving the sutures with expertise honed through exper

Showing her a small black tin. She nodded, still not looking at him. “Just open it.” He wasn’t sure what this was all about but he did as he was told. “What the?” He exclaimed, his jaw dropped a bit. The box contained blister packs with unfamiliar medical names he had never seen before. Prozac. Anafranil. Naltrexone. Guanfacine. “W-what are these?” Intuition told him that these weren’t just over-the-counter medicine. “Fin, you know I’m freaking slow, you have to tell me what these are for?”

A low, strangled groan rolled from deep in his throat, crushed between his molars, swallowed back down. Another stitch. With every plunge of the needle, his abdominal muscles locked down again, every ridge and groove etched in sharp relief. I could feel the stubborn resistance of his scarred, unyielding flesh as the needle drove through. When I pulled the thread tight, the stretched skin on both sides of the wound quivered faintly. I stitched seven times in total. He left seven finger-shaped creases in the hem of my shirt. Last stitch. Knot tied. Thread cut. I placed the suture needle back on the tray and wiped the residual iodine and blood from around the wound with an alcohol swab.

I add like a Catholic nun standing over a misbehaving student. Rack shakes his head. “No, Beth. I’ll shower and put some antiseptic on it. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” My fingers go to the hem of his T-shirt. He watches when I lift it slightly away from his side before moving it up. He has stitches. They start just above his hip. I count them; the T-shirt is stuck to his side at the ninth stitch. The edges of the wound are puffy and red. He should be in bed and not battling my demons.

She was looking down at herself, examining the stitches. “The doctor said I got eight stitches to close up the stab wound,” she said quietly. “That I’ll have another scar on my chest.” She glanced up now, her eyes full of hurt. “I guess I can add it to my collection, huh?” Luke wrapped his arms around her, surprised yet again at the gift of her vulnerability. Fuck, she’d been through enough – more than enough.