Edited 08/14/2022
The Art of Sutures
It was a quiet night, and for that Eislyn was glad. She had just gotten home after a late shift at the veterinary clinic in Oakland, and she had been experiencing some serious sensory overload all day. She would never harm an animal, but the constant noise had her mood fluctuating all day and she found herself unable to hold back from snapping at her coworkers. They were just as burnt out as she was, but somehow found the patience to let her anger flow over them. She loved her coworkers. Most of the time.
The weeks leading up to the holidays were always extremely busy. Various GI cases had been rolling in since Thanksgiving was just around the corner. There were at least a half dozen new puppy or kitten rooms each day, as families brought in their children's barking and mewling early-Christmas presents. There were ACL cases, weight loss exams, the growths that "weren't there last night", not to mention the wellness exams and vaccines. And don't forget the anal gland expressions or nail trims.
There wasn't a day this week that Eislyn hadn't had to make use of her spare set of scrubs she kept in her truck, only to still come home smelling of yeast, pee, anal glands, or feces scented vomit. Not to mention the nail trimmings she found in her bra and undershirt any time she undressed.
She was glad to be home, and the first thing she had planned was to hop in the shower, set the water to scald, and scrub her skin raw. So, she did just that. Afterwards, she fell into her usual night time routine: applying the leave-in conditioner to her long brown hair, rubbing lotion into her overly dry skin, and taking her contacts out. She dressed in the soft red plaid pajama pants her mom got her for Christmas last year and the slightly large, black long-sleeved band shirt her uncle had sent her. He had been proud of the graphic design of the shirts promoting his band, and she had happily purchased one in support of them. The shirt was comfortable, warm, and had quickly become one of her favorites.
Putting her glasses on and leaving her hair down to dry, Eislyn hobbled into the kitchen to heat up some leftover spaghetti. She hadn't eaten since dinner time the night before, since the clinic had been swamped with appointments, most of which were sick pets that needed a lot of testing and treatment. She had spent a good portion of her day taking radiographs and was only mildly surprised that her skin wasn't glowing.
Her body ached though. Her mind was numbingly exhausted. The silence of her house was so vastly different to the noise at the clinic, that her ears were still ringing. She relished in the silence though. On the way home, she had even opted to turn the radio off as the sound of the noise brought her near tears. As it was, it took every ounce of energy she had left to heat up the spaghetti and bring it to her dining table, mashing the button to open the microwave door before the beep sounded off. She was slow to sit down, mindful of her lower back and hips as they protested being brought into a position they weren't used to. Her knees popped, and she winced at the dull ache that shot through the left one.
At twenty-eight years, Eislyn was sad to admit that her body was starting to give out on her after only nine years in the veterinary field. She snorted at the thought, 'only'. Many of her peers still considered her a 'baby tech'. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to keep doing the work, though, and was impressed when Marla made it to her twentieth anniversary just the other month - that woman ran circles around her and the other baby techs.
Using one hand to fork the food into her mouth, her other hand aimlessly scrolled through her emails, before moving on to her social media pages. She responded to a few messages, and then closed out of them. Finishing the last of her food, the tired brunette pushed herself up from her seat and deposited her used dishes into the sink. She told herself she would wash them tomorrow, but knew she likely wouldn't.
Just as she was making her way towards her bedroom, shutting lights off behind her, a very sudden and loud bang resounded through her house. She gasped in alarm, her body jerking as her confused brain tried to decide on which fight or flight instinct it wanted to listen to. Her heart pounded loud in her ears, and she felt her face go cold as the blood rushed away. Lips tingling and numb, Eislyn turned towards the front door, pressing her fist against her chest as she tried to calm the sudden explosion of anxiety and fear coursing through her body.
The bang sounded again, and she watched as her door shook in the frame. Her body frozen in place, she watched as the third impact broke the lock and the door flew inwards, crashing against the wall and knocking some artwork to the floor. In those few moments, Eislyn expected to see armed intruders rushing over the threshold to assault her.
Instead, a man dressed in black fell forward and collapsed to the wooden floor of her entryway. His head bounced once with the impact, and the man groaned in pain. She tore her eyes from the man and looked past him, out the front door and scanned the darkness of her small front lawn beyond. Not knowing exactly what she was expecting to see, she knew that the stillness of the mid-winter night was not it.
Cold air wafted into the house, but the man let out another pained groan and Eislyn's eyes flitted back down to him. She watched as he tried to push himself up off his stomach, but his gloved hand slipped as if wet, and his body plopped back down to the floor.
Eislyn sucked in a slow, deep breath, suddenly aware she had not been breathing and she felt the blood rush back up to her face. With that rush of blood, her fingers and toes began to tingle, and she felt a sudden light urge in her bladder. Ignoring the sudden need to pee, Eislyn took a tentative step forward, relieved when her legs didn't give out beneath her.
She knew it probably wasn't a good idea to be approaching a complete stranger who had just broken into her home, but something was not right with him and she felt a need to figure out what exactly it was. A few more steps, the next more sturdy than the last, carried her over to the black-clad intruder. He had been still since collapsing back to the floor, so Eislyn slowly crouched down next to him, staying as far back as she could whilst still being able to reach out and touch him. Her hand alighted on the back of his shoulder, and she choked on a scream when the man's hand shot out and wrapped around her ankle.
She tried to move back and away from the man, but the suddenness of her movement was uncoordinated and she ended up falling on her rear. The man's hand, surprisingly firm, kept it's grip on her. His head waveringly turned to face her, but it was hard to see the details of his face beyond the scruffy beard and unkempt hair that obscured it. She could see a few abrasions along his forehead and temple, but when he spoke, her eyes darted down to his lips, where she noticed a scar extending across his cheek from the corner of his mouth.
"No cops." His voice was gravely and dry. His words alarmed her, but the thick Scottish brogue piqued her curiosity - it was unexpected. This whole situation was unexpected. Eislyn didn't know what to do. So, naturally, she laughed. It sounded high pitched and crazy to her ears, and she cleared her throat immediately after as if to hide that she had just laughed.
His brown eye was boring into her own hazel ones, and he repeated his words more slowly this time,
"No. Cops."
Eislyn wasn't quite sure if the shiver that went through her body was due to the cold air or the man before her, but either way it was unpleasant. Cautiously, she reached forward and grasped the man's hand in hers, prying his fingers loose from her ankle and said,
"You break into my house and expect me to not call the cops?" She choked out, incredulous. The man didn't respond, and his eye fluttered shut, his head rolling to a relaxed position that had his nose pressing into the vinyl flooring. It was only as she was simultaneously pushing the man's limp hand away from her, and dragging her leg back away from him, that she became aware of the slick moisture her foot slid through with the movement. Tearing her gaze from the man's scruffy face, she looked down and saw a small trail of blood seeping out from beneath the man's body.
"Well, fuck." Eislyn muttered to herself. She stared at the blood for a moment longer before glancing back out her door.
The night was still quiet, no signs of any other people around or near her house. The neighborhood was a newer development of one-acre lots, and the houses to either side of Eislyn were empty. Directly across from her house was a green belt, which was usually littered with children playing in the day time. At night, her street was eerily quiet. She preferred the lack of noise and the lack of neighbors, however, and hoped that this didn't completely screw her over. If this man killed her, her body would be left to rot the entire weekend. Possibly even longer, before her coworkers or mother got worried that they hadn't seen or heard from her in a while. Her cat wouldn't starve, at least. The little shit would feast on her corpse.
The thought of her cat, and the open door, was what spurred her into action. Tyr had been asleep on her bed when she got home and passed through to her master bathroom, and the loud noises had likely sent him into hiding. However, the longer there was no noise, the more likely the cat would come out of hiding. Eislyn didn't want to risk the old man thinking the open front door was an invitation to go exploring.
Grunting, she pushed herself to her feet with every intention of calling the cops. As she began to straighten out, she caught sight of the emblem on the back of the man's jacket. A worn, white patch had been sewn into the center of the leather: a grim reaper holding a scythe-tipped rifle. Above and below that were other white patches that were just as worn, and she read the black lettering as dawning realization trickled across her mind. It was a leather kutte over the top of a jacket. Something slightly familiar to her, which she should have noticed straight away.
Sons of Anarchy. California.
"Fuuuck." She groaned out, and squeezed her eyes shut. "It's a dream. That's what this is. I fell asleep eating dinner, and I'm currently face down in my plate of spaghetti. A dream." She scrubbed her hands over her face, and lightly slapped her cheeks, hoping the sting would bring her back to reality.
When she opened her eyes, however, the man was still laying at her feet, slowly bleeding out on her floor. His breathing was shallow, but even, and she really should call the cops.
Her upbringing wouldn't allow her to though.
'No cops', he had said. Many one of her family members, both close and distant, would roll over in their graves if she didn't honor that request. Sending a prayer out to whichever gods and goddesses were listening that she didn't regret this decision later, Eislyn darted into the kitchen for a cleaning rag and wiped the blood from her foot. Ignoring the trail of blood she had tracked behind her, she swiftly went back over to the man and grabbed the shoulders of his kutte. Planting her bare feet firmly against the floor, she dragged the man further into her house and ignored the sharp protest of pain that shot through her knee and lower back. Next, she attempted to close the door.
Since the man had apparently either kicked or shouldered her door open with force, the damned thing wouldn't latch. With it closed, she dragged her solid entry table over and positioned it to hold the door shut. If the lock didn't prevent the stranger from getting in, the entry table sure as shit wasn't going to protect her either. But, it would keep Tyr inside at least. Taking a moment to pick up the artwork that had fallen to get it out of the way, she placed them on top of the table and then went back over to the intruder, trying to avoid stepping in the trail of blood as she went.
She needed to find the source of the man's bleeding. It took her a few tries, but she finally got the man turned over onto his back. Pulling aside the kutte, and lifting the layers of jacket, shirt, and undershirt, she located the injury.
It looked like somebody had cut the man with a knife. The wound on his stomach was jagged and long, starting in the center of his abdomen a few inches above his navel and extending at a downward angle. It stopped just above his hip, which was the source of the majority of the bleeding. The start of the wound appeared to be more shallow, and had already begun to coagulate.
Eislyn had asked one of the veterinarians once, during the rare downtime they had, if he would teach her how to suture wounds. Although not something she would do at the clinic, it was a skill that she had been interested in - she liked to sew and cross stitch, and had wondered at how the art of suturing would differ. Now, she was relieved that her curiosity had paid off for once, and although she was not very skilled by any means, she was confident she could at least slow the bleeding down. She also didn't have suturing material here, but she did have a variety of needles and thread.
Going back to the kitchen, Eislyn got out a small pot and filled it with water, which she set on the stove and lit the burner to allow the water to boil. She ran to her spare bedroom, leaping over the man's prone body, and dug around in the closet for her sewing basket. She opted for a thicker white thread, grabbed a thinner upholstery needle and scissors, then made her way back to the kitchen where she began to cut long lengths of the thread and dropped them and the needle into the water to boil.
Figuring she should at least try to clean the wound, and cursing her scattered thoughts for causing her to run all over the place, she ran back to her bathroom to grab the bottle of betadine and box of gauze pads she kept there. Tyr chirped at her in greeting and rubbed along her legs, but she shooed him away.
"Not right now, baby love. Mommy is busy." She told him distractedly, and rushed back into the kitchen. Hearing that the water was starting to boil, she grabbed a bowl out of her cabinet and dumped some of the betadine in it, before adding just enough filtered water to bring it to the color of strong tea.
Leaving her needle and thread to boil for a short time, she quickly scrubbed her hands clean, then took her bowl of betadine, the gauze, and a few hand towels back over to the man. Settling down beside him, she dumped gauze into the betadine mixture, and used one of the hand towels to wipe away the excess blood around the wound. She tucked the towel along his body on the floor, so that it was in the path of any more blood that came from the wound.
She was so focused on the task at hand, as she began to use the betadine gauze to clean the wound, she hadn't realized the man regained consciousness at some point during her endeavors. He grunted as she began to clean the deeper section of the wound, causing her to jerk and drop the gauze in alarm.
Their eyes met, and she found herself speaking to him in a voice far more sturdy than she felt,
"I don't know people medicine, but an injury is an injury and yours needs to be cleaned and sutured."
As she spoke, he moved his arms into position to leverage himself up, so she put her hand to his chest and pushed him back down with a firm 'no'. Her gave her very little resistance as he laid back down, covering his eyes with his forearm.
"'People medicine' as opposed to…?" He trailed off questioningly, his words slow as if he was concentrating on the words he said, enunciating them more clearly than before despite his accent.
"Animal." She replied simply, before returning to cleaning the wound. A snort was his only response. While she worked, he laid there, still and quiet. If it weren't for his occasional grunt and twitch of his torso as she hit a tender area, she would have thought he had passed out again.
Once finished cleaning the gash, and satisfied that the middle section was also starting to coagulate now, she got back to her feet and carefully retrieved her items from the boiling pot of water, transporting them on a few paper towels.
She was nervous about the next part, as she had only ever practiced suturing techniques on a training pad and with proper materials. She had no way of numbing the injury, and other than various NSAIDs, she had no form of strong pain relief for the man. She wasn't too worried about his comfort, but she didn't want him squirming around while she worked either - there was always the potential he would hit her while she pieced him back together.
Making a pit stop to grab the bottle of Crown Royal from her liquor cabinet, she brought the alcohol and supplies back to the intruder. He watched her every move as she laid these supplies out, and as she took a long drink from the whiskey bottle. When she started to screw the lid back on, she hesitated and then offered the bottle to him.
With no hesitation, he grabbed it from her. She helped him sit up just enough to drink deeply from the bottle himself, before taking it from him and setting it aside.
"That is some cheap shite."
"Well, it's that or butterscotch schnapps. I don't get paid until next week, and frankly liquor is not high on my list of priorities right now." She spat. The resulting chuckle her reaction drew from him had her grinding her teeth, but he said nothing further so she began the slow process of suturing the wound closed.
She doubted it was the whiskey, but the intruder remained still the entire time she worked. He did still twitch at times, but never did he utter another word or sound. She was thankful, because it allowed her to concentrate and soon the wound was closed and her sutures were mostly straight and even.
Not knowing what to do with the man from here, she opted to clean up her mess. At some point while she cleaned, the man had progressively dragged himself so that he was sitting up with his back against her couch, which had been a few feet away from where he had previously laid. Once done, she found herself standing awkwardly in the space between her front hallway and living room, the both of them staring at each other in contemplation.
"I don't supposed ye'd let me sleep here for the night?" He finally asked. She knew he would; where else was he going to hole up while injured and barely able to stay conscious for a few minutes at a time? Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shut her eyes tight and sighed. She really hoped she didn't regret this. She didn't know the man, for fucks sake! He broke into her home, bled on her floor, and she patched up his wound. Now he was asking to stay the rest of the night. Glad that she didn't have work for three days, she ran her hand through her hair, cringing when she remembered it was still covered in his blood.
"I suppose I don't have much of a choice." She finally responded.
"Ye could've called the cops."
"You said no cops." The words sounded weak even to her, and he raised one dark eyebrow. Briefly, she contemplated cleaning the scratches on his face as well, the technician in her itching to make sure those didn't get infected. As his dark gaze bore into her, awaiting a response with just enough amusement present, she decided to leave it be. He could clean them his damn self. But, she couldn't let him go stumbling around the streets in the middle of the night while injured. She threw her arms out in surrender, and grabbed the open bottle of whiskey that still sat on the floor, screwing the cap back on it.
"Just don't harm me or my cat." She muttered, before striding down the hallway to her bedroom for the last time that night. She made sure Tyr was still in her room, and then locked the door. For extra measure, she dragged the chair that normally sat by the window over and wedged the back of it under the door knob. Taking another drink of the whiskey and reveling in the burn that trailed down her throat, she set the bottle down on her dresser.
Looking at herself in the mirror above the dresser, she took in the sight of the blood staining her hands and smeared across her face and pajama pants. She figured it was on her favorite shirt as well. Resigned to a night of restlessness, Eislyn peeled the soiled clothes from her body and took a second shower, before redressing and crawling into bed.
Tyr was quick to jump up there with her, and curled up around her head. Eislyn figured it would take her hours to fall asleep, as the adrenaline of the last hour or so had made her previous exhaustion disappear. However, as Tyr purred in feline contentment, and the house remained otherwise quiet, Eislyn was able to succumb to sleep.
