Stop The Bleed Instructor Portal Novels & Stories

The bleeding doesn’t stop. I look at the mirror cabinet, feeling a bit worried. I open the door and see a stack of cotton pads inside. I grab a few and press one against my nose, trying to stop the bleeding. The cotton soaks up the blood quickly, but it just doesn’t stop. I feel a bit frustrated and reach for more cotton. I keep adding layer after layer, pressing them firmly against my nose. After using several pads, I finally notice that the bleeding is slowing down. I take a deep breath, feeling relief that it seems to be getting better. Turning on the water, I splash my face to feel better and then dry it with a towel.

The room filled with tension, every second feeling like an eternity. “Clear!” Erica called, pressing the paddles to Bjorn’s chest. His body jolted, the electricity surging through him. The monitor beeped erratically before slowly returning to a steady rhythm. Arisha released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Okay, we’re back. Let’s finish this.” She resumed her focus, and the room seemed to hold its breath as she made the final adjustments. “There,” she whispered, her voice firm. “The bleeding has stopped. Prepare to close.”

I had spent years studying the old ways, even after they cast me out. “His spleen,” I whispered. “I think the bleed’s there. We need to relieve pressure.” The nurse nodded, prepping tools. I guided her hand with precision, showing her where to apply gentle counterpressure to avoid shock. I used a pressure seal to stabilize his core, and Lara placed a cold compress over his chest to slow the bleed internally. “His breathing’s stabilizing,” the nurse murmured in disbelief. “Heart rate increasing,” another said. “He’s not out of danger yet, but it’s working.”

Taking a deep breath, I focused on my task. “If we don’t stop the bleeding soon, he is going to go into distress.” One of the doctors urged. The room was growing tense by the second and I was running out of places to search. Just then, I felt something that felt like a gush of liquid. Opening my eyes, I pressed my finger against what I thought was the bleeder. “Get more suction in here.” I ordered, as my gaze moved between the stats and the bleeding.

“But it’s tenuous.” Anna nodded. “He can turn fast.” “That’s what I thought too.” Anna leaned in, eyes scanning the numbers. She pointed out subtle things—what to watch for, what couldn’t be ignored. Her voice was calm, instructive, but edged with urgency. “This kind of bleed can hide,” she said. “If anything changes—pressure, output, mental status—you call me. Immediately.” “I will,” Abigail assured her. Sierra stepped forward behind her. Anna had noticed her following behind her—hovering nearby, hands clasped tight in front of her, eyes bright with something that looked like determination… and fear.

She had never obliged; she’d even felt a dreadful fascination for the graphic colour photos: thighs with massive chunks torn out of them, bitten-off feet recovered from the stomach of a tiger shark. What will I do if he rolls out of the water bleeding half to death? Frantically she sought in her mind for long-ago first aid training. Arterial bleeding - find the pressure point, make a tourniquet . . . Anoushka’s face was white, her voice shaking with anguish. ‘I pushed him away, and now he’s going to die.’ ‘He isn’t.’ Claudia took her hand, held it so hard it hurt. ‘Come on, Guy,’ she urged in a desperate whisper. ‘Come on. Come on.’

He walked out, muttering about sending someone soon to bandage her up. “No, please! Come back!” But he was gone. “Emma?” “Jess…” Emma gulped, trying to hold on to the fire she had before. “What do I do?” “Roll over. Roll over onto your stomach. Press yourself in the floor. It should help to stop the bleeding. Tell me when you’re done.” “Done,” Emma said after about a minute or so. “It hurts. It’s hard to breathe this way.” “I know. But we’re going to be okay. We will.”

A weak flutter beneath her fingertips, and the shallow rise and fall of the girl's chest. “She’s still alive...” Shama whispered in disbelief, her voice cracking. Relief rushed through her, only to be replaced by raw panic. She was no doctor—she didn’t know how to fix this. But if she didn’t do something, the girl would bleed out right in front of her. Her mind scrambled, trying to remember anything useful she had ever read or seen. *Don’t pull out the knife. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding.* She ripped off strips of fabric from her gown with shaking hands.

“Again. You did it.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. My phone buzzes on the vanity, lighting up with a cascade of notifications. – *Insane show. LA office wants you on a call in an hour.* – *Sponsor wants a backstage selfie ASAP—strike while the #BleedForMeChallenge is hot.* – *We’re up 18% in streams mid‑show. Push a live Q&A?* I flip it face‑down. “Later,” I tell the dark screen. “I just stopped bleeding. Let me clot for five minutes.”

I said, dialing a number, "I'm simply following protocol. This is the academy's security hotline. I'm reporting trespassers in the private studio area." (Samuel's POV) Blood. There was so much blood. It pooled on the floor, smeared the walls, stained our clothes. Connor's hand wouldn't stop bleeding – that damned silver knife had cut deep. Shouts and screams erupted around us as other students noticed the commotion. A crowd began to gather in the corridor, their faces transforming from curiosity to horror as they took in the bloody scene. "What happened?" "Someone call a pack healer!" "Is that Connor Redwood?"