Dimitrescu's Daughter (Completed)

Chapter Eight: Aunt Donna

The maids this morning have come up with a whole new way of waking me: with a mop.

"What-" I groan, "Why?"

"Sorry miss, we weren't sure you were alive this morning. We're very glad to see you awake."

"Why?"

"Well," Her voice trails off and I notice the smell. It smells like a raw wound and my whole torso is wet. When I sit up the sheets stick to me and there's a slight tearing pain in my chest, like when a cotton bandage gets stuck in a wound.

"Oh," I breathe, "Oh my god."

"Go get lady Dimitrescu." One of the maids goes running and soon enough mother is ducking through the doorway. She takes one look at me and sighs heavily.

"Leave us."

All the maids scurry out like mice and shut the doors. Mother Dimitrescu sighs again, "Your blood smells, particularly appetizing dear. Forgive my interest."

I'm too busy panicking, realizing that for some reason the wound over my heart is oozing plasma and the sheets and covers are thick with coagulated blood which means I've been bleeding all night. The smell is overpowering and my hands shake. Sensibly I know tearing it off will hurt immensely but it's also the only reasonable thing I can think to do.

In my ever growing panic I whimper and sniffle, tears streaming down both my cheeks.

"Now now, you're alright. Look."

Using my morning glass of water mother Dimitrescu holds the weight of the wet blanket and uses it to soften the wound until the sheets come off without pain. I scramble out of bed, pulling my shirt off to look at the injury in the daylight.

Black and grey mottling stretches from my navel to the spot between my collarbones. The uneven, crooked gash is completely black. In the line is green pus and fresh trickling blood which I'm relieved to see is red, albeit a very dark shade. My entire chest is consumed by it and my hands shake violently.

"Katherine! Draw a warm bath," Mother Dimitrescu calls, draping my robe around my shoulders.

"Yes my lady!"

"Come here." I don't protest to being cradled in her arms and carried to the bathroom.

A tub of milky white water is waiting, dotted in black rose petals. It looks very inviting.

"Get in, I'm going to call for a doctor."

All morning is consumed by the terrified doctor's work. His hands shake slightly and he asks if it hurts every time he touches me. With mother Dimitrescu standing by the door watching like a hawk I'm impressed his hands only shake a little.

"That's about all I can do without surgery. Here's some antibiotic ointment. Let it sit for about an hour then apply this balm. It'll help keep the skin from drying out, crusting, and starting this up again," He tells me. I nod.

"Thank you."

"Yes, thank you doctor."

Amazingly the man stops by mother Dimitrescu on his way out, licking his lips nervously, "I'd suggest looser fitting clothes and lighter sheets if you can manage it. If it acts up again she'll wind up stuck to her clothes or whatever's on her chest."

I perk up, "Does that mean I should wear a shirt and slacks?"

"Ideally."

Mother Dimitrescu looks at me, "You are willing to go a frightfully long way to get out of wearing dresses my dear."