12. Diego
DIEGO
“Easy,” I murmur to myself, kicking closed the motel door and immediately depositing Valentina’s unconscious body on the bed.
Luckily, a place as shitty as this won’t ask too many questions, and the man at the desk only cared about clearing out the last dollars of my emergency savings to pay for the room.
He didn’t even spare Valentina a glance when she finally passed out in the chair I left her in, although I did smile and spin an excuse about partying and drinking to cover us just in case.
There’s no time to waste. I draw the threadbare curtains over the window, lock the door and slide the chain into place, then turn on the light and move back to Valentina on the bed.
She could easily be mistaken for sleeping peacefully if not for the growing red patch on her shirt.
My heart begins to pound as I gather the hem and very slowly roll the shirt up to expose the weeping wound, a deeper laceration stemming from her ribs down her side that had been healing, but given her exertion, she ripped it wide open.
It needs stitches, antiseptic, and painkillers.
Shit. Everything I could need is back at my apartment, but it’s too dangerous to go back there.
Pushing them from my thoughts, I briefly pat Valentina’s thigh and stand.
Under the slightly sickly bright light in the bathroom, I tear open the cupboards and search every single shelf for anything remotely medical.
Luckily, there’s a small medical bag completely devoid of any drugs or painkillers, but there’s some old gauze, a couple of needles and thread, and some butterfly stitches.
They’ll have to do.
Returning to her side, my heart skips a beat. She hasn’t moved or woken up, though her breathing remains soft and shallow as if she’s just resting.
It would be erratic if she were in real danger, right?
It definitely would be. Which means she’s fine right now.
I hope.
Kneeling by the side of the bed, I spend a few minutes measuring the butterfly stitches against her wound. They’re wide enough to fit, but age is against me because the moment I open them up, it becomes abundantly clear that all the adhesive has dried up.
“Fuck,” I murmur, and my attention slides to the needles.
I’ve never stitched someone up with a needle and thread before. It’s so different from the lazy butterflies that I’ve used on myself and others in the past. What if she wakes up and thinks I’m attacking her and I end up locked between those thighs, unable to explain myself?
A decent way to die in theory, but much scarier in reality.
“Forgive me,” I murmur at her sleeping face. “This is going to hurt.”
As I gather one of the needles from the small compartment, something makes me hesitate and I stare down at the sharp little prick while a strange warmth curls in my gut. I can’t stab her with this. I’ve no idea where it’s been.
Glancing around the room, I study the television, the chest of drawers, and the door to the ensuite. None of those offers any solutions on how to sterilize the needle and a bubble of hopelessness grows.
That hopelessness is amplified by the sudden buzzing of my phone. Just once. Then twice. Then it becomes a constant. Digging it out of my pocket, I glimpse Mindy’s name and immediately turn my phone off.
I don’t have the capacity to deal with her shit right now.
But what do I do about this?
Hopelessness bleeds into despair.
Until the shuffling of feet past the door and a whiff of cigarette smoke through the small gap give me an idea. Scrambling up, I dart toward the door, unlock it, and hurry out onto the walkway where a couple are stumbling along toward their room.
“Excuse me!” I call, hurrying after them as quickly as I dare. “Excuse me, you got a light?”
They both pause and turn, each fixing me with a glazed look as they sway back and forth.
“Huh?” The man drawls in a rough, high-pitched voice.
They barely look old enough to be out this late. “You got a light?” I repeat. “Tryna impress my lady and my fucker blew. Can I borrow one?”
“Nah,” the man replies. “Fuck off.”
“Danny!” The woman drives her elbow into the man’s gut. “He’s tryna be romantic! Help him out!”
“Why?” Danny says, turning away. “Ain’t my lady.”
“Well I am, and you don’t fucking do anything to impress me, do you?” the woman snaps “You wouldn’t fucking know romance if it punched you in that tiny dick.”
“Hey, fuck you!” he whines as she shrugs his arm off her shoulder and walks toward me.
A few feet away, she digs a lighter out of her tiny skirt and tosses it in the air. “Here. It’s nearly dead but got enough to light a few candles.”
“Thanks.” I catch it with one hand. “Enjoy your night.”
“The fuck are you doing, Brit?” Danny hisses as the woman returns to his side, arms crossed. “That dude could be a serial killer?”
“And he still has more chance of getting laid than you do.”
“The fuck!?”
“Romance, Danny!” Brit snaps as they storm away. “Fucking romance!”
I leave them to it and dart back into my room, locking the door quickly just in case Danny decides to start some trouble I don’t have time for. Valentina remains exactly where I left her, which is as relieving as it is alarming.
“I got a lighter,” I say, making conversation in the silence to make myself feel better. “I’ve never stitched like this before, but I have sewn a few holes closed in my clothes. Bound to be the same thing, right?”
God, I hope so.
Kneeling back beside the bed, I flick the lighter and hold the needle to the flame.
I’ve no idea how long I’m supposed to hold it there or how long it takes to kill off any bacteria, so I hold it until the needle begins to glow orange and burn my fingertips.
Then I repeat it with the other side just as the lighter splutters and dies.
It’ll have to do.
“I’m really sorry,” I murmur as I thread the needle with trembling fingers. “This is probably going to hurt.”
Luckily, Valentina remains unconscious during the entire thing.
Squeezing the wound closed with two fingers and under air stained with the scent of copper, I stitch that wound closed the best I can.
Piercing a needle into her flesh is enough to make my stomach roll, but after a couple of rough crisscrosses, the wound is closing and the blood flow is lessening.
In the end, that’s all that matters.
Cross after cross, I weave the thread back and forth with each careful press of the needle. Sweat beads my hairline and my heart lurches every time my stained fingers slip against the wound, but in the end, I’m successful.
It’s messy and crooked, and her skin looks a little tight, but the wound is closed and no more blood leaks down onto the blanket. I sit back on my haunches and grunt as the movement alerts me to how stiff my thighs are from kneeling for so long.
But it’s done.
“Now don’t go all ninja on anyone else, okay?” Tossing the needle aside, I gaze down into the medical bag, but there’s nothing else to help me. I’ll need to get her antiseptic and painkillers, which means I need to get money from somewhere.
Fuck.
The best I can do is clean her wound with hot water and pray nothing else will go wrong. Once she’s cleaned up and I’ve removed the bloodied sheet to the floor, I tuck Valentina up and retreat to the shower.
What a fucking night.
My hands are stained with her blood, and as I run them under the hot tap while the shower warms, I’m struck by how painfully similar this is to when I found her.
Her unconscious, bleeding all over the bed while I patch her up and try to recover from a near-death experience.
That cop that came to the bar… there’s no way he was a real cop.
If he was, he’s definitely not on the side of anything good.
I glance up and glimpse the shadow of bruising forming around my throat. I’ve never been one for fighting. I work out when I can because it’s a good distraction from the occasional itch that creeps up in my mind, taunting me to use again. That man attacked so suddenly and I couldn’t defend myself.
Would I have died if not for Valentina? What kind of man does that make me?
Those thoughts plague me as I strip off and step under the hot spray. Water pours down me, catching the bloodstains as it goes and swirling the crimson around the drain where it disappears forever. I stare until the water runs clear and then I scrub.
Everything is ten times more dangerous around Valentina. The crash itself was insane. The cop at my bar was unlike anyone I’ve fought before, and her reflexes were incredible. She’s from a world so different from mine.
Is this why no one is looking for her? Why her face doesn’t exist anywhere and my car vanished?
Never mind those strange men at my apartment.
It’s too much to think about. Exhaustion pulls like taffy through my mind so I turn off the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and trudge back into the bedroom.
“Deigo!”
“Valentina!” Seeing her upright and awake floods me with a relief stronger than any drug. “Holy shit. Are you okay?”
“Mmhmm. I mean, this hurts…” She has her shirt raised and gently runs her fingertips over her freshly stitched wound. “You did this?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry.”
“What for?” She glances up at me with big eyes. “It’s good. It’s helped me, so that’s all I care about.”
“I’ve never stitched someone like that before,” I reply. “But I think I did it right. We don’t have antiseptics or painkillers or anything like that, but I can go and get some now. Are you in a lot of pain?”
With one hand keeping my towel around my waist, I move to where I discarded my clothes on the chair, but Valentina stops me by shaking her head.
“Please, it’s okay. It’s so late and we’ve had a crazy day. I can manage. It doesn’t hurt that much right now anyway. I…” She cuts herself off and hesitates, wrinkling her nose slightly. “Thank you, Diego.”
“It’s no problem, seriously.”
“No, it is.” Lowering her shirt, she winces and looks up at me with such soulful eyes that my heart breaks a little. “I’ve completely derailed your life. Everything you’ve been doing for me is incredible. Even this…” She glances around and frowns. “Although, where exactly is this?”
“A pretty shitty motel just off the highway. Closest and cheapest I could afford. Didn’t feel smart to take you home after those people were there.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she says, returning her attention to me. “You’ve patched me up. Fed me. Given me space in your home and you don’t even know who I am.”
“Valentina…” Something about the way she speaks brings me to her side and I sit next to her.
“I know you were scared the night you got into my car. And I know maybe it was dumb for me not to take you straight to the hospital, but I think tonight proves you were right. Cops aren’t on our side and you saved my life.
And you remembered your name. So I believe it won’t be long until you remember everything, and then what doesn’t make sense, you will be able to answer. ”
“Why are you so nice to me?” Her eyes droop slightly. “What if I’m the bad guy?”
I gently take her hand, sliding my fingers over her knuckles and around until we’re palm to palm. “I’m not a good guy either. And if we’re being fair, you don’t know anything about me, either.”
The corner of her lip twitches. “I know enough.”
“Then so do I.”
“You can’t say things like that when I’m trying to thank you.”
“I absolutely can.”
A soft, tired laugh escapes her and then she groans. “You look so good. Do you think I could take a shower?”
I glance down at her bloodstained shirt and then nod. “I can’t see it doing any harm.”
“Can you help me?” Her cheeks flush ever so slightly as our eyes meet. “I tried to stand when I woke up and it felt like my stomach was going to fall out of my ass. But I feel so dirty and grubby.”
“I can help,” I answer immediately. “Are you sure you want me to, though?”
Valentina rolls her eyes and tightens her hand in mine. “I think we’re past shyness.”
Bracing my arm for her balance, I stand and help Valentina to her feet.
It’s easy to get her into the bathroom but when she starts taking her clothes off, I don’t know where to look.
This is so different to when I patched her up the first night.
Back then, I was so concerned with the chance of her dying that nothing else mattered, and I kept her underwear on to save her some dignity.
Here, in this bathroom, she doesn’t seem to care. She sheds my shirt and jeans with ease, mostly keeping one arm on me for balance, and each time she sways, I’m there to catch her. Valentina then removes her bra and panties without any hesitation, and then she faces me with a tired smile.
“Don’t let me fall?”
I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. She stands before me, completely naked, and it’s a hard fight keeping my gaze level with hers when every inch of her stands naked in my peripheral.
She’s toned and beautiful, a beauty that isn’t clouded by her healing bruises, pink wounds, my bad stitching, or any other marks or scars that cover her.
Her body tells a story we won’t know the answer to until she gets those precious memories back.
“You won’t fall,” I assure her, taking her hand. “I promise.”