35

Victoria

I was in the kitchen, chopping little potatoes for dinner. I would be making salmon with garlic potatoes and sautéed bell peppers. The front door opened as I was about to put the potatoes in a pan.

"Victoria!" Michael called; his voice sounded strained. That was unusual.

"Michael?"

I walked into the living room and saw Michael stumbling in, holding onto his abdomen, his hand covered in blood.

"MICHAEL!"

I immediately ran to Michael's side before he could fall.

"What happened?"

"That meeting didn't go as planned."

"What do you mean?"

"They stole everything and stabbed me twice."

"Okay, let's get you upstairs."

As I tried to guide Michael out of the living room, his body gave out, and we both fell to the floor.

"Come on. I need you to stand up."

I tried to lift Michael up, but he was too heavy.

"Come on, Michael. Get up!"

Michael tried to stand, but his body gave out again. He had lost too much blood.

"Shit. Okay, I'm gonna have to stitch you up here."

"Fine," Michael groggily said.

I ran upstairs to get the first aid kit and hurried back to the living room.

"Alright," I said as I kneeled next to Michael and opened the first aid kit.

"Let me see what the damage is."

I opened Michael's jacket and lifted his shirt. There were two large gashes on his abdomen.

"What the hell did they stab you with?"

"They stabbed me on an angle and ripped the knife out on an angle."

"Well, it looks like you stopped the bleeding enough."

I quickly grabbed everything I needed. Michael shouted in pain as I cleaned and stitched his wound. His screams were music to my ears, so I took my time with each stitch.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Michael screamed as I tied another stitch; I was halfway done with his second wound. "Can't you sew it together like normal?"

"It'll be more difficult to take the stitches out, then, and they could get stuck in your skin."

Michael let out another groan of pain, "Just hurry the fuck up!"

"Do you want me to do this right, or do you want to risk the stitches opening and bleeding to death?" I snapped.

"Mommy?" I heard Antonio's voice. I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway.

Just fucking great! This poor kid has seen too much for his age.

"What's going on?"

"Don't worry, Antonio," Michael said. "Daddy's gonna be okay."

I continued stitching up Michael as Antonio walked up to us, watching me work. My priority should have been to get Antonio out of the room, but I was too focused on Michael. Once I finished, I stood up and ran to the sink to wash my hands. I returned to Michael's side and started digging through the first aid kit for bandaging.

"Why are you helping him?" Antonio asked me.

I turned to look at him, shocked by his question.

Because I need him alive since I have plans to torture him and make his life a living hell.

I could feel Michael's gaze burning into my side as I tried to come up with a convincing answer.

"Because I love him and don't want him to die."

I had to restrain myself from grimacing as I said those words. I hated that I still loved Michael; I hated that I was helping him. In all honesty, I had no choice; even without my help, Michael would've found a way to stitch himself back up, and I would've been punished for not helping him.

I carefully put petroleum jelly over Michael's stitches, followed by a large gauze pad. I used medical tape to keep the gauze in place and sighed in relief.

"Okay, you should be good n-"

"AAHH!" Michael shouted as Antonio kicked him.

"Antonio!" I scolded.

Antonio practically sprinted up the stairs to his room. I looked at Michael, who clenched his teeth and held on to his abdomen.

"Great! Just fucking great!" I mumbled as I stood up to put the first aid kit away.

Now that Michael was injured, my plans would have to wait. If I waited any longer, Antonio would probably kill Michael before I could do anything.

As I put the first aid kit away, I remembered the first time I had to help Michael.

We were having a movie night at my place. I was cooking up some appetizers when my doorbell rang. I smiled with excitement as I went to open the door.

Michael walked in, slightly hunched over.

"Are you okay?"

Before he could answer, Michael fell to the floor.

"Michael!" I quickly turned Michael on his back. "What happened?"

"I went to take care of something before coming here. I got shot."

"I'll call an ambulance."

"No! Don't. You need to be the one to help me."

"What do I do?"

"Do you know how to stitch up a wound?"

"No."

"Okay, you're gonna have to burn me then."

"What?"

"Listen to me. Turn the stove on, take a knife, and move it all over the flame; make sure the whole knife is burning hot."

I ran to my kitchen and did as Michael said. When I returned to Michael's side, he had lost even more blood.

"Alright, I need you to take the bullet out."

"What? I can't!"

"Yes, you can. You need to feel around for the bullet and take it out. Here." Michael reached into his jacket and took out a flask. "It's whiskey. Once the bullet's out, pour some all over to disinfect the wound. Then you're gonna hold the skin together, take the knife, and press it against me so the wound closes. I need you to be quick; do you understand?"

I nodded, and with shaky hands, I stuck my fingers inside Michael's wound and felt around for the bullet, causing Michael to groan. Once the bullet was out, I quickly grabbed the flask and poured whiskey all over Michael's wound, making him scream. Tears filled my eyes as I put the flask down, grabbed the hot knife, and pressed it to Michael's wound.

"I'm sorry," I cried as Michael screamed. "I'm so sorry."

How I've changed since then. Was I stronger? or was I too broken to care anymore? I let out a sigh and headed back downstairs. When I walked back into the living room, I saw Michael wasn't breathing.

"Michael?"

Michael didn't respond.

"MICHAEL!"

I hit Michael's shoulders, hoping to get a response. Nothing.

"No, no, no. Don't die on me, now. Not like this!"

I ripped Michael's shirt open and started compressions.

"Come on, Michael! You don't get out this easy."

Despite how frustrated I was that my plans would go to waste and that Michael would have an easy way out, part of me was scared; I was afraid of losing Michael.

Something is seriously wrong with me.

I continued CPR, praying that Michael would somehow pull through.