#rcptus

THE BULLET HAD SUNK DEEP INTO HIS SHOULDER. it was a nasty wound, worse than any elizabeth had treated on booker before, and suddenly she felt entirely out of her depth — as if someone had taken her and flung her deep into the ocean where no light could penetrate. which way was up? which way was down?  as her breaths became shakier, hands hovering over the wound for a moment too long, booker’s voice cut through the noise in her head. take a breath. you can do this. time was of the essence for an injury such as this. she could not afford to falter now.  ❝ a-alright, ❞ elizabeth confirmed, ❝ i can do this. piece of cake! ❞ the confidence was false — that was quite obvious from the way her pitch rose — but there wasn’t another option, so she conjured in her mind the instructions from one of her medical books and got to work.  the pressure she’d been applying with a thick square of cloth had slowed the bleeding adequately enough that elizabeth could better assess whether removing the bullet would even be possible. and it was: the thing gleamed from certain angles, its visibility reducing the riskiness of digging around in there. thankfully, her anxiety over the situation had conjured a tear that held behind it a tray of sanitized surgical tools. some kind of ... tweezers? yes, tweezers worked. better than a scalpel, at least. it took a few deep breaths to summon the courage. elizabeth’s hands were shaking, and she couldn’t seem to get them under control. what if she hurt him more? ❝ okay, ❞ she said, though all of the false confidence from a moment ago had fallen away, leaving behind it the voice of a girl who had never done something like this before. ❝ just ... just hold still. ❞