She rushed to the kitchen cabinets, which yielded a medium-sized first aid kit – a complimentary courtesy of the building owner. Ripping it open, she grabbed all of its contents with great urgency– antiseptic wipes, gauze pads, adhesive bandages. It wasn't really much, but better than nothing.
Returning to the living room, Emily knelt beside the unconscious man once again. The harsh overhead light seemed even more unforgiving now, highlighting the gash on his shoulder and the jagged tear on his side, both blooming crimson against his pale skin.
With a trembling hand, she wiped the surrounding area with an antiseptic wipe, the sterile scent a stark counterpoint to the metallic tang of blood.
The vodka stung as she poured it over the wounds, a harsh but necessary cleansing. Using the aspirin cap as a makeshift scoop, she irrigated the cavities, wincing at his involuntary flinch. It was a faint reaction, barely a twitch, but it offered a sliver of hope that he was still alive.
As she tended to his injuries by cleaning and dressing the wounds with a practiced hand, her movements were swift and sure. Max's eyes flickered open, and he gazed at Emily with a mix of fear and gratitude. "Don't worry, you are safe now," Emily reassured him, her voice calm and steady, a glimmer of hope in a desperate situation. "You're going to be okay."
As Max's eyes closed again, Emily continued to work, her focus solely on saving his life.
Now came the daunting task – stitching. Threading the needle with the unwieldy yarn proved a trial in itself. Her hands, usually steady, shook with a nervous tremor. Focusing on each breath, she forced herself to be calm. The first attempt was a disaster, the needle tearing through flesh instead of gliding through the edges.
Frustration threatened to engulf her, but she gritted her teeth and started again. This time, with a practiced hand, she managed to pull the makeshift sutures through, the yarn a garish contrast against the raw flesh. It wasn't perfect, the stitches uneven and far from textbook, but they served their purpose – stemming the flow of blood.
With practiced efficiency, she covered the wounds with sterile gauze pads, securing them with generous amounts of adhesive tape. Finally, a semblance of order was restored, the makeshift bandages a testament to her desperate ingenuity.
She knew the road to recovery would be long and arduous, but for now she was determined to stabilize the condition and get him the medical attention he needed. With each passing moment Emily's sense of purpose grew, driven by a fierce determination to save Max's life.
As Emily was done dressing the wounds. She grabbed a blanket and gently covered Max, trying to keep him warm and comfortable. She then went to the kitchen cabinet to grab some more pain medications, which she administrated to Max to help manage his pain. As Max's condition started to stabilize, Emily breathed a sigh of relief.
Exhaustion gnawed at her, but the ordeal wasn't over. Anticipating his potential need for hygiene, she filled a basin with warm water and soap, setting it aside for a future use. Collapsing onto the armchair opposite the couch, she allowed herself a moment of respite. The apartment, once a haven of comfort, now bore the chilling weight of violence. Yet, amidst the chaos, a sliver of hope flickered. The stranger on the couch, his face pale and drawn, still breathed, a testament to her desperate efforts.
He was still a stranger. No matter how many weird coincidences had led to them meeting on several occasions, all she knew about him was his first name and all he knew about her was nothing. Not even her name
The night stretched before her, an uncertain path shrouded in darkness. But for now, she had done what she could. And as dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Emily, would be there, ready to face whatever challenges awaited. Well until he regains consciousness then he would have to leave.