“Well,” she begins, nodding toward your wound and the gel in your hand. “We can only do what the Lord asks us to do.”

Her answer is neither an attempt to condone nor condemn your plan. She speaks as if her thoughts have wandered elsewhere and that her presence here is little more than one of her daily chores. She no longer seems interested in you and remains quiet while you apply a bead of gel to the full length of your wound. There’s an icy sting at the moment it touches your severed flesh, but that shock immediately gives way to a soothing, warm numbness that spreads quickly throughout your entire forearm.

Claire steps right beside you, close enough that the entire right side of your naked body is pressing against hers. You take a breath of air, sweetened with the fruity smell of her shampoo just before she pushes the needle through the skin of your forearm.

“Hnn—” You wince, but keep yourself from moving.

“Please, hold still.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

She pulls the thread through your skin and quickly pokes a hole in the opposite side of the wound.

“Doing what? Helping you?”

“Yeah,” you mutter as you hold a short breath and accept the next prick of the needle. She doesn’t reply immediately, so you continue.

“I mean, look where you are. Look at what they’ve done to you.”

Your questions hang in the air, unanswered, for the full duration of time it takes her to close the wound on the inside of your forearm. Tying off the thread, she snips away the loose ends with a small scissors and then carefully begins doing the same to the exit wound on the outside of your arm. There, the opening is much smaller and, after she bends your arm back against your chest, it’s only a few small stitches and she’s done.

“I do know what they have done to me.”

She doesn’t look up at you when she snips off the last bit of loose thread and turns away to recollect all of her things into the first aid kit.

“But,” you stammer and inspect your arm. The stitches are tight and perfectly spaced. The bleeding has already completely stopped.

“But why don’t you leave?”

“Because I have everything I need.”

She then steps away and packs the first aid kit back into the bottom drawer where she had originally pulled it from. Closing the door, you watch her stand up and turn to face you. There is fresh resolve in her face. Her eyes look determined, but somehow distracted. She walks up to you and places her hands on your wrists before she leans forward and plants a tiny kiss on your right shoulder.

“Please be ready when you arrive at the wedding.”

Continue here.

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