Snippet #2556125

The cab ride ride went by quickly. Mostly she spent the trip facing Damian trying her best but failing at giving him some comfort with useless words of assurance that she hoped wasn't lies while the cab driver shot them both curious glances from his rear view mirror.

"You'll be alright... Just hang in there... We'll be there soon... Everything will be okay."

When they did finally arrive to the sizable house, Jettie couldn't help but be impressed as she assisted him into inside his home. This author seemed to be living pretty well. Her whole apartment could likely fit comfortably inside his main room. He's sold a lot of books, she realized, and then felt guilty and kind of stupid for having never heard of him or to never have read any of his work.

Jettie was about to protest to climbing the stairs, honestly not thinking he could make it and maybe not having full confidence that she could make it without letting him drop, but when she saw the twisted look of determination across his features, she simply drew a breath and persevered. Though distracted with concentrating on getting him up the flight safely, she did have a few chances to further glance around this part of his home. It was clean and sharp, neat and flawless. A stark contrast to her own which was a cluttered mess from wall to wall.

His bedroom was a perfect compliment to the rest of the house. Clean and white; it barely looked lived in at all. The blood leaking from his wound brought a bright splash of color to the space. Jettie lingered by his bed not sure what to do to help. Instead she watched, almost hypnotized by his actions and motions. Curiously she peered into the box, examining it's odd contents. Not that the medical supplies were odd ones just the fact that they were stashed under his bed was a bit eccentric. What would an author need with such an arsenal of medical defenses? She imagined the most horrible thing to happen to a writer would be a paper cut. Wrist cramps, maybe.

But when Damian ripped off his shirt revealed a torso littered with old scars, she then imagined that perhaps he wasn't simply an average author. Jettie drew in a sharp breath, clenching her teeth as she watched him apply the liquor soaked pad to the wound. His cry of pain matched her cringe, "Are you sure this is... How you do this?"

Her voice was full of skepticism and doubt yet judging by the scars and supplies on hand, she figured that maybe this wasn't his first time dealing with this type of thing. Her features matched her emotions, worried and nervous as he pumped the various liquid filled syringes into his body. When he suggested that he would need her to give him stitches, her face went pale.

"Me?", she nearly squeaked. "I, I've never done that. I mean on a person. On skin. I wouldn't know how. What if I hurt you? What if I do it wrong?" She was protesting, yet found herself picking up the kit and gloves, looking from them and then over to his face as she stood before him. He was paler than normal and looked like he could possibly pass out any second. What could she do? The wound did need to be sewed up.

Jettie's mind worked quickly and then she was tugging the gloves over her shaking hands. "C-can you lay back? And maybe just scoot down a little." Damian complied with grunt of discomfort that made her shoot him apologetic looks. "Good, now... Just try and relax?"

Damian was laying longways on the bed, the wounded side closest to the edge. Jettie searched the room with her eyes for something to sit on. A white chair by what she assumed was a closet would have to do. Using her foot, she managed the chair over by the bed and sat down beside him. Clumsily she opened the kit, pulling out the impossibly small curved needle. Her brows pinched as she studied the kit and the surprisingly helpful pictograph.

"So... It's like tying little knots," she spoke, mostly to herself, as she read and examined the supplies. "Lots of little knots. You use these scissors thing to hold the curvy needle... Ohhh, okay. I think got it." The last part was said to Damian as she looked over to his face, meeting his eyes. "I can do this," she gave him a confident smile before adding, "I hope..."

Readying the equipment, she positioned herself slightly hovering over him and set out to work. Her facial features were hardened and extremely serious as she concentrated deeply on each and every move and motion with only the occasional widening of her eyes as she worked to correct a mistake and then followed by a quick satisfied squint before locking back into the stare of focus.