Chapter 22 #2
I splutter at the strength of the undiluted spirit, but he puts it close to my mouth again. “Drink it all, darlin’, it will help settle you.”
It seems easier to obey than refuse. I drain the glass. He takes it away, but after placing it behind him, again takes hold of my hand, this time, also claiming the other.
“My ol’ lady, Trixie, has put fresh sheets on the bed in our room.” Preempting my objection, he adds, “You’re not putting us out. Most of the time, we live off compound. And Bronwyn’s waiting to see you. Come on, I’ll take you up now.”
I gaze up at him through half-closed and reddened eyelids, not comprehending what he wants me to do.
“You need rest,” he says, remarkably gently for such a big man.
“I can’t,” I wail. “Not until Flynn’s found.”
“Doing all we can,” Bullseye states. “Got brothers out searching, checking all the hospitals around. We’re looking into property records to see if there’s anything linked to your brother. Ames, there’s fuck all you can do now except look after yourself.”
“Come on,” the big man encourages again. This time, he puts a little pressure on my hands and starts to pull me up. When I’m vertical, my legs almost fail me again as my muscles protest at the day's exertions.
Putting one leg in front of the other takes all my concentration, but I pause to ask, “If you hear anything…”
Bullseye gives me a raise of his chin. “We’ll let you know immediately.”
The man whose name I still can’t remember, or maybe we were never properly introduced, helps me along by letting his supporting arm drape around me.
It’s not just the physical pain that’s making my actions slow.
It’s the agony in my heart, knowing it’s next to impossible that I’ll ever see Flynn again, will never be able to joke or laugh with him, or experience his terrible cooking, or share another of those mind-blowing kisses with him, let alone seeing where our fledgling intimacy might go.
I’m only vaguely aware of being led through the clubhouse, then when I stumble at the stairs, I’m swept up into strong arms, and carried the rest of the way, then along a corridor and into a room.
I’m put down gently.
“Oh fuck, come here, babe. You look like you’re in need of a hug.” A woman’s arms come around me and hold me tight. The smell of her shampoo in her long hair that surrounds me like a cape reminds me of the state I’m in.
“I need a shower.” I pull away. She lets me.
“Let me look you over first,” another female voice sounds. “I’m Bronwyn, and I’m a nurse.”
“I’ll leave you with Bronwyn and Trixie,” the man says, and even in the state I’m in, I don’t miss the relief I hear in his voice.
“Thanks, Freak. We’ve got it from here.”
Freak. I’ve learned his name at last. Ironically, it’s only when he takes the opportunity to disappear.
“Come, sit on the bed,” Bronwyn directs.
I’m a total mess. My clothes are sticking to me from dried sweat, I’m covered in blood and dirt, and my face?
I can feel how swollen and sore my eyes are, and can imagine my nose resembles Santa’s lead reindeer.
A shower should be a necessity, but I don’t have the strength. So, I obey her and do as she suggests.
The mattress dips comfortably underneath me.
“Do you mind if I remove your shoes?” I can well believe she’s a nurse.
She’s got that practised tone about her.
Quiet, but there’s no doubt she’s going to take them off whether I want her to or not.
And there’s an underlying strength in her voice that betrays she’ll brook no argument.
I respond with a sigh that she takes as permission.
Closing my eyes, not wanting to see the state my feet are in, she hisses as she eases first my trainers, then my socks off. “You’ve got a couple of nasty blisters.”
Yeah, I was equipped for road running, not mountain climbing.
“Ames, you’ve got some concerning scratches on your legs. One’s quite deep and is still bleeding. Can I help you take your shorts off?” She then turns her head and says something to the other woman that I can’t quite catch.
I do what’s needed, raise my hips when she makes the request. Closing my eyes, I’ve drifted off into my world of hurt, when I feel someone gently sponging my legs.
I glance down, watch the nurse washing and applying some ointment to my wounds, and butterfly band-aids to the deepest. I zone out again.
Lifting one arm and then the other as she cleans the scrapes I’d gotten from battling the unforgiving trees. Then she winces as she washes my hands.
From out of nowhere, I find myself telling them, “Rattler’s dead.”
Trixie, wasn’t it? She makes the mattress dip as she sits beside me. “We don’t know that yet. He’s missing.”
Shaking my head, I reply, “He can’t have survived. I saw them attack. He was outnumbered…” My voice trails off as I again burst into sobs. My body heaves as everything overwhelms me.
“You like, like him, yeah?” I notice her quick correction, which only makes more tears flow.
“I think… I think I could have loved him.”
“Is she talking about Rat?” Bronwyn sounds shocked.
Hurriedly, Trixie shushes her.
Recovering herself, Bronwyn takes on a professional mode again. “Let's get you into the bathroom so you can relieve yourself and brush your teeth. Then, you can get into bed. Ames, I’m going to give you a sedative to help you sleep. Is that okay?”
Oblivion sounds just what I need. I want to stop thinking, want to stop reliving Flynn’s last moments, want to get the sound of gunfire and explosions out of my head.
She helps me up and into the bathroom, then, when I emerge, Trixie’s pulled back the sheet, and the bed looks inviting.
After I lie down, Bronwyn approaches with a syringe. Her lips quirk. “Think you’ve earned the good stuff tonight.”
It’s not like me to trust a stranger, but I lay back and let her do her worst, cleaning the skin on my upper arm, and then she’s so gentle with that needle, I barely feel a scratch.
I’m tired, exhausted, emotionally wrung out. And, with the aid of whatever she’s given me, I start to drift.