I saw her standing on a stepping stool of some sort behind the counter. She was hanging fake swags of yellow and orange fall leaves and flowers. She immediately turned toward the door as I came through it and I watched as she lost her footing and fell. She disappeared behind the counter when she hit the floor. Running over to the counter, I jumped over it quickly. The bright red blood all over her leg and floor was a direct contrast to the gray carpeting behind the counter.

“Are you OK?”

It was a stupid question since seeing that her pants and her leg was ripped open she was most definitely not OK.

She looked like she was fighting back tears while she reached down and very slowly rolled what was left of her pants leg up.

“Ouch!” She jerked her hand back. “I think I caught the edge of the glass top counter there,” she hissed. “Apparently, it’s pretty sharp.”

I ran into the employee bathroom in the back of the store and grabbed as many paper towels as I could.

“Here, let me help you,” I reached down to help clean the blood.

She jerked away quickly like she had been burned. This let me know she was seriously pissed off at me and I couldn’t blame her. I’d be pissed, too, if I were her.

“I got it, thanks.” Her words were clipped and not once did she look at me.

I watched as she wiped up blood from her leg and the floor around her. She wouldn’t let me help no matter how many times I insisted, but when she almost fell trying to get up, I reached out and held her up regardless of her complaining. Once we got her settled into a comfortable chair she let me move the napkins and look at the huge cut down the side of her leg that was still pouring blood.

“We gotta get you to a hospital. I hate to tell you this, babe, but you’re gonna need stitches.”

She still looked like she was about to cry, but no tears ever came.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said. “It’ll be fine—I’ll just have to put a lot of band aids on it.”

The expression on her face as she looked down at her bleeding let me know she knew she was going to need stitches as well. I recognized the exact moment that she resigned herself to a hospital trip. She shook her head and tried to get up from the chair.

“I need to lock up first.”

She stood up to get the store locked and hissed loudly at the pain from her leg.

“I’ll do it. Just tell me what to do,” I offered.

She talked me through locking the front door then I pulled down the closed sign. While I was doing that, she called the owner of the store and told her that she needed to leave and explained why. I heard the lady on the other end of the line going crazy with worry.

I finally convinced her to let me take her to the hospital and soon we were on the way. There were no words spoken between us once we were in my car. The talkative giddy girl from our date was nowhere in sight and with her wincing in pain every couple of minutes I figured now wasn’t the best time to lie about why I disappeared off of the face of the earth. I was going to have to be something good—something that tugged on her heartstrings.

When we got to the hospital they took her straight back. She didn’t say anything when I followed.

“OK, Mrs. Sheffield, I’m going to need you to remove your pants so I can get a better look at this.” The ER doctor looked younger than us.

She peeked over in my direction, still not looking me in the face then took a deep conflicted breath. Instead of taking her pants off in front of me like the doctor asked, she reached down and ripped her pant leg off from the knee down.

I watched as the doctor cleaned the wound and was really surprised by how big it was. It was going to leave one hell of a scar, that’s for sure.

“Yep, we’re definitely going to have to stitch you up. Let’s get you numbed up first,” he said, as he pulled out a needle.

“Don’t numb me…just stitch me up, doc,” she hissed, as she turned her leg.

The doctor looks surprised for a second. “Are you sure, sweetie? This is going to hurt.”

“I’m sure.”

“OK, well you may want to hold your boyfriend’s hand.”

A soft blush covered her cheeks and I covered a smirk.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

She peeked over in my direction once more; again her eyes never reached my face. I wanted to make her look at me.

I watched as she flinched and gripped the sides of the hospital bed. Gritting her teeth, she made tiny hissing noises every time the needle went into her skin. She was in horrible pain, but not once did she cry—her eyes didn’t even water.