It had been a brutal evening. An evening of having fun had taken a horrifying turn. Among all the people in the world who could have been mugged, it turned out to be this annoying miscreant. And above all else there were over ten thousand people in a one-kilometer radius and she happened to be the one to chance upon him getting mugged.
If she didn't know better she would have thought he was stalking her. No, maybe she was stalking him...no….no she wasn't stalking him. She definitely knew she wasn't stalking him. She didn't know he was going to be at the coffee shop.
Neither did she know he was going to be at the club it was pure coincidence. As weird as it may sound she had to believe it was coincidence. She wasn't even supposed to be there.
She wouldn't have been there if not for Christine. She has a lot on her mind she has to tell that girl the next time they meet.
She had to give her a piece of her mind. She was in this awkward situation all because of her. Well, she wasn't entirely to blame but she played a major part.
To hell with this entire situation. None of it made sense and it wasn't going to make any sense even if she thought about it for two more days.
A surge of anger, hot and unwelcome, bubbled up within her. Christine would pay for dragging her into this mess. But for now, there were more pressing concerns.
For now, she had to concentrate on keeping him alive.
She crouched beside him and started playing the events of the night over and over again in her head.
Between the time she heard the noise which in hindsight was probably a yelp or a scream from Max, which was obviously also when he was stabbed, and the time it took for her to get to him, he should have lost a considerable amount of blood.
The core temperature of a normal human being was about thirty-seven degrees. The fall in skin temperature was attributed to vasoconstriction and that in core temperature to decreased heat production due to reduced oxygen transport to the tissues.
His body temperature should have dropped considerably, which made his skin sickly pale, with a waxy complexion.
Emily knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save his life. She needed to clean the stab wound to prevent it from getting infected and try and keep his temperature from dropping any lower than it already was, but for now, he was somewhat stable.
The gravity of the situation settled on Emily's shoulders like a leaden cloak. Adrenaline, which had fueled her actions so far, began to ebb, replaced by a cold steely resolve. She couldn't dwell on the 'what ifs' or the 'whys'. This man needed her help, and she was all he had at the moment.
With newfound purpose, Emily scanned her apartment, her eyes flitting across the familiar landscape, searching for unconventional tools. On the liquor shelf, a half-empty bottle of vodka caught her eye. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Next came the aspirin bottle – the tiny plastic cap, a potential makeshift cup. A quick rummage through her junk drawer yielded a sewing needle – sterilized by desperation over a lighter flame.
Thread, however, was a different story. Spotting a spool of unwound cotton yarn on her nightstand, a leftover project, she snatched it up. It wasn't ideal, but it would bind if nothing else.