Needle and Thread
849 Words
The needle feels heavier than it should.
I stare at the tray.
Someone stocked it with everything I could need.
Everything except confidence.
Of course.
That would’ve been useful.
I force myself to inhale.
Then exhale.
He’s still gasping.
Each breath sounds thinner than the last.
Like his lungs are slowly forgetting how to work.
“Stay with me.”
His eyes barely open.
I don’t know if he heard me.
Maybe I just needed someone to hear the words.
My hands are shaking.
Not from fear.
Fine.
Mostly from fear.
This isn’t how this is supposed to happen.
There should be bright operating lights.
Monitors.
A trauma team.
An attending standing over my shoulder asking questions I pretend not to know just to annoy them.
Instead…
There’s a concrete floor.
A kidnapper somewhere beyond the door.
And a man whose heartbeat is quietly counting down.
I swallow.
“You don’t get to panic.”
My voice barely carries.
“Not until he’s breathing.”
Medical school has a funny way of rearranging your brain.
The terrified part of me is still screaming.
The other part…
The doctor…
Keeps making lists.
Assess.
Prioritize.
Act.
No room for emotions.
Not yet.
I look over him one more time, searching for anything I’ve missed.
Rapid breathing.
Uneven chest movement.
Bruising spreading beneath my fingertips.
Every piece fits.
I hate that it fits.
Because if I’m right…
I don’t have much time.
I glance at the tray again.
Everything waits for me.
Cold.
Silent.
Patient.
Unlike me.
“I’ve watched this.”
I whisper the words more to myself than to him.
“I’ve assisted.”
My stomach twists.
“I’ve never done it alone.”
His breathing catches again.
Another painful gasp.
Decision made.
I steady my hands the way my instructors drilled into us.
Slow is smooth.
Smooth is fast.
I focus on one thing at a time.
Nothing else exists.
Not the basement.
Not the blood drying on my wrists.
Not the pounding in my head.
Only the patient.
Only the next decision.
Only the next breath.
Time disappears.
The room narrows until it’s nothing but him and me.
When I finally commit…
Everything happens at once.
For one horrible heartbeat…
Nothing.
No change.
My stomach drops.
Did I just…
Then—
A sharp rush of escaping air breaks the silence.
I almost collapse with relief.
His body jerks.
He coughs hard.
Another breath.
Deeper this time.
Then another.
His chest rises.
Falls.
Rises again.
Not perfect.
Not even close.
But real.
Color begins creeping back into his face.
His shoulders stop fighting quite so hard for every inhale.
“There you go,” I whisper, tears burning unexpectedly behind my eyes.
“There you go…”
The first breath sounds different.
Deeper.
Less desperate.
His chest still rises unevenly, but at least it rises.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my own breath until I let it out.
“There you are,” I whisper.
His eyelids flutter.
His breathing is still fast.
Too fast.
But it isn’t the panicked gasping from before.
His color is improving.
Not good.
Just…
Better.
I sink back onto my heels.
My hands are shaking now.
Not during the procedure.
Now.
Adrenaline is funny that way.
It lets you borrow courage and then sends the bill afterward.
I stare at my blood-covered hands.
They’re trembling so hard I have to lace my fingers together.
“I really did that.”
Not in the excited, look what I accomplished kind of way.
More in the please don’t let him die anyway kind of way.
He lets out a low groan.
Good.
Groaning is excellent.
People who are dead rarely complain.
“Glad to hear you’re feeling conversational.”
His eyes crack open.
They’re…
Blue.
Or maybe gray.
It’s hard to tell in the dim light.
He looks at me like he’s trying to remember who I am.
Fair.
I barely know who I am anymore either.
“You…”
His voice is rough.
“…saved me.”
The words barely make it out.
I shrug.
“Well… I mostly saved you.”
“I’ll accept mostly.”
I blink.
“That might be the longest sentence you’ve said since I got here.”
One corner of his mouth twitches.
Not quite a smile.
Close enough.
“I was conserving energy.”
“Oh, naturally.”
“I assumed one of us should.”
I stare at him.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It wasn’t bad.”
“It wasn’t good either.”
“No…”
I nod thoughtfully.
“It was aggressively average.”
He actually huffs a laugh.
Immediately regrets it.
His hand flies to his ribs.
He winces.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Let’s not do that again.”
I look around the room.
The cart.
The instruments.
The locked door.
Someone knew.
Someone expected this to happen.
The realization settles over me like ice water.
They didn’t just kidnap a medical student.
They brought me here…
Because they needed one.
- Writer
