Today was a tough day. I had to wash the pool area, which was covered in blood. My boss got furious with his finance director who was stealing from his company's capital, and since I know the details, I was serving juice during the heated argument that unfolded with my boss shooting the man twice in the head. The man thrashed lifelessly on the floor. He ordered his henchman to get rid of the body and ordered me to clean up the mess. And the bastard didn't even notice that the man's brains had splattered on my face.
While I was cleaning, I kept asking myself why I didn't get scared anymore, why I didn't panic. I've witnessed so many things in these four years that I think everything has become quite normal, which is strange for a rational, thinking being. But five more years there and I could disappear and never come back; I'd be free from that house of horrors.
I finished cleaning with sodium hypochlorite and some other bleaches, and went to the incinerator to dispose of the materials used to clean the scene, plus my maid uniform. I left there and went straight to the servants' bathroom to take a good, long shower. I took my toiletry bag with my products, because one thing I don't go without is sleeping smelling nice. I took a thorough shower, rubbed jasmine oil on my body, dried myself, put on white panties and a very large, loose shirt, and headed to my tiny but tidy little room, threw myself onto the bed, and passed out.
Around three in the morning, I woke up to someone shaking me by the shoulders. I was very scared and saw Liriam, who seemed very nervous.
Liriam: Girl, we need your help. The boss is injured, can you go take a look at him?
Still trying to get my bearings as I was half-dazed, I asked.
Selena: But where is Doctor Joseph?
For those who don't know, he's the doctor who provides services for Mr. Oliver when he doesn't want the public to know that he or any of his employees have been injured, thus maintaining his image as a good man and not drawing attention to himself and his business.
Liriam looks at me with a pleading gaze and replies.
Liriam: Joseph is on vacation in the Caribbean. By the time he gets here, Mr. Oliver will have died and resurrected, and he'll also have killed us all for incompetence. Come on, girl, we don't have all night.
Still feeling insecure because I've only been studying medicine for four years, I get up and follow her to our boss's suite. And there he was, a glass of gin and tonic in his hands, sitting in his armchair with his torso completely bare. In that same instant, shame washed over me, making me blush.
The man noticed my discomfort and stared at me strangely, his eyes running from my feet to my head, which honestly made me look at the floor, so intimidated was I, until he broke the silence, speaking.
Oliver: Liriam, who is this woman? And why is she here?
The man spoke in a deep voice, quite hoarse from the strain of his wound.
Liriam: Sir, it's Selena. She's been a maid in the house for four years, and she's studying medicine. She can help you, if you allow it, of course.
He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, somewhat suspicious, and just as I imagined, even though I'd been serving him for four years, I had always been invisible, until today, that is. I think I'm going to regret not having left four years ago.
The man gives a nod and allows me to approach. I get closer, look at his wound, and ask his right-hand man for first-aid supplies, and I dare to address him directly.
Selena: Sir, I'll need you to lie down on your bed. And besides the basic first-aid supplies, I'll need forceps, surgical tweezers, scissors, and a needle and thread for stitches.
He gets up and passes by me, his hand on his abdomen, holding the wound, his face contorted in pain. He lies down on his bed. I ask Liriam to fluff his pillow and make him comfortable. The supplies arrive, and I put on gloves, and say.
Selena: Sir, I'm going to apply a local anesthetic.
He just nods, watching me make the applications around the area. When I inject the syringe into the wound, he brings his large hand to my arm and squeezes it, groaning in pain. I remain calm and continue the application, still feeling my arm ache. He gradually loosens his grip on my arm, indicating that the anesthetic was taking effect. I run my finger over the exposed shrapnel and ask.
Selena: Are you feeling this, sir?
He looks at me deeply, and just as I'm about to ask again, he answers.
Oliver: I don't feel it. You can proceed.
With the help of the forceps, I begin to remove the smaller pieces of shrapnel. I place a lot of gauze soaked in alcohol on the sides of the wound, and I position the forceps and remove the largest piece of shrapnel, making my boss's blood flow. I pour saline solution into the wound and see that the cut was deep but didn't hit any major arteries or veins. I staunch the bleeding and begin to stitch, exactly seven stitches. I dress my boss's wound and ask him to sit up so I can bandage his abdomen.
I write down the names of the medications for his right-hand man to buy, excuse myself, and leave the room, heading to my own room to sleep for the hour and a half I still had left.
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