“Gilli, what did you do?”
“I'm fine, really.”
“No, sweetheart, you aren't. I can see it in your eyes. Let me see.” He gently takes her hand and cradles it in his. He hisses in empathetic pain. “Okay, not nothing, love." He gently wraps her burnt hand in a cool, wet tea towel and leads her to the kitchen table. “Sit, Gilli, I’ll be back in a minute with the first aid kit.”
She sits, perfectly malleable, for the moment. Not yet aware of how much damage she has done. Not so much to her hand, as to her psyche. And his. Well and she is mildly in shock...let us not forget that bit, because it won’t last for long.
“Okay,” he says, as he lays his supplies on the table. “Let’s have a look.” He unwraps the tea towel, “Looks like a mild second degree burn, a little blistering. Does it hurt yet?”
“No, it doesn't feel like anything. Could be someone else’s hand.”
He sighs softly. He knows what happens next, and he well and truly hates this part. The treating the injury, shocking her out of shock, hurting the already hurt. He pulls on his latex gloves, “Sweetie, look at me.” Nothing. “Gilli, can you look at me, please?” Eye contact. “Good girl. I'm going to clean off your hand now, it’s going to hurt.” A nod. Acknowledgement.
The sting of the antiseptic, the sharp ache of being touched on a wound. A whimper, or two, or more.
“Shh, I know, love. I know. I'm almost done.” She pales at the pain, which is an accomplishment as she is already pale in the way that only porcelain and redheads are. “Gilli, take a deep breath for me. Good girl; keep breathing like that. The worst is over. Shh, deep breaths.”
She knows he hates this part, and she feels guilty. Hate is not too strong a word for how she feels right now. Not for him, for herself...she loves him.
He gently covers the burn with a gauze pad that won’t stick when he changes her dressing later. “Are you doing alright?” A nod. He’ll take it, better than non-responsive. He wraps her hand as gently as he can, making sure when he tapes it in place, he places it away from the burn. “There we go,” he says as he takes his gloves off. He gathers up wrappers and used gauze. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hurts,” she thinks to herself. The burn and how much he loves me. Why does that hurt, it’s not hurtful. He’s gentle, and sweet. Never hurtful.
He knows she is lost and confused in the chaos in her head. It happens. She wanders off into the dark place. He leads her from the kitchen to the sitting room. He has no idea what to do to lead her back from the dark. But he knows what to do until she gets there. He wraps her tightly in a blanket and pulls her into his lap and holds her firmly, her head resting on his shoulder. He rocks her softly and waits for the soul cleansing tears to come and wash it all away.
“I'm fine, really.”
“No, sweetheart, you aren't. I can see it in your eyes. Let me see.” He gently takes her hand and cradles it in his. He hisses in empathetic pain. “Okay, not nothing, love." He gently wraps her burnt hand in a cool, wet tea towel and leads her to the kitchen table. “Sit, Gilli, I’ll be back in a minute with the first aid kit.”
She sits, perfectly malleable, for the moment. Not yet aware of how much damage she has done. Not so much to her hand, as to her psyche. And his. Well and she is mildly in shock...let us not forget that bit, because it won’t last for long.
“Okay,” he says, as he lays his supplies on the table. “Let’s have a look.” He unwraps the tea towel, “Looks like a mild second degree burn, a little blistering. Does it hurt yet?”
“No, it doesn't feel like anything. Could be someone else’s hand.”
He sighs softly. He knows what happens next, and he well and truly hates this part. The treating the injury, shocking her out of shock, hurting the already hurt. He pulls on his latex gloves, “Sweetie, look at me.” Nothing. “Gilli, can you look at me, please?” Eye contact. “Good girl. I'm going to clean off your hand now, it’s going to hurt.” A nod. Acknowledgement.
The sting of the antiseptic, the sharp ache of being touched on a wound. A whimper, or two, or more.
“Shh, I know, love. I know. I'm almost done.” She pales at the pain, which is an accomplishment as she is already pale in the way that only porcelain and redheads are. “Gilli, take a deep breath for me. Good girl; keep breathing like that. The worst is over. Shh, deep breaths.”
She knows he hates this part, and she feels guilty. Hate is not too strong a word for how she feels right now. Not for him, for herself...she loves him.
He gently covers the burn with a gauze pad that won’t stick when he changes her dressing later. “Are you doing alright?” A nod. He’ll take it, better than non-responsive. He wraps her hand as gently as he can, making sure when he tapes it in place, he places it away from the burn. “There we go,” he says as he takes his gloves off. He gathers up wrappers and used gauze. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hurts,” she thinks to herself. The burn and how much he loves me. Why does that hurt, it’s not hurtful. He’s gentle, and sweet. Never hurtful.
He knows she is lost and confused in the chaos in her head. It happens. She wanders off into the dark place. He leads her from the kitchen to the sitting room. He has no idea what to do to lead her back from the dark. But he knows what to do until she gets there. He wraps her tightly in a blanket and pulls her into his lap and holds her firmly, her head resting on his shoulder. He rocks her softly and waits for the soul cleansing tears to come and wash it all away.
