C O L L E C T A B L E S

sorry not sorry

"AH!" The soldier called out, trying to retract her leg, but the physician held it in place. Grip firm around her muscular calf. It was a common occurrence for her; jerky patients, who couldn't handle the slightest pain.  

"Hold still, or this'll take longer than it should." The physician scolds. "And no big movements, otherwise your stitches are going to open up again."

The murky haired patient clicked her tongue, knowing the physician was right and meant well, but hated her commanding tone and snapped back as always.

"I'll hold still, if you stop makin' it hurt so much." She spat. "Aren't doctors suppose to have gentle hands or somethin'?"

The physician's face remained stiff. She brings a pale hand up to her face, pushing her silver glasses higher up the bridge of her long nose. 

"You're a soldier, shouldn't you be tougher?"

The soldier felt her anger swell. Clenching her jaw, "I almost got blown up into pieces, everything's fucking hurtin', okay?"

The physician sighed, looking at the poorly wrapped bandage the soldier's knee. "I apologise. I'd thank your services for our nation, but getting you patched up is my contribution to our cause, and you're making it excruciatingly hard."

The soldier clicks her tongue again. Why do I always get paired with this insensitive bitch?

Still, she gradually allows the muscles of her calf to relax, putting her injured self back into the cold hands of the young doctor. The physician unbandages her wound with more care than before. Nimble fingers swift and gentle. Once she disposed of the soiled cotton into a steel trashcan, she sets the soldier's foot on a small stool, getting a pair of tweezers from the cart.

"This is going to hurt, try your best not to move please."

Please. 

Even when she was the one making the request, it still sounded more of a command, the soldier thought.

The physician holds the back of her knee, fingertips ice like frostbite. The hairs on her body rise. First, there is a cold nip of the tweezers at her exposed flesh, then a sharp pain follows when they dig into her to pick out the buried debris. The soldier exhales deeply, feeling something pull out from her raw flesh, its edges scraping along the sides. The physician takes her time, savoring every flinch and huff of breath from the soldier. She started with the smaller ones, working at a pace amiable to her own needs.

"Fuc - Wait!" The soldier yells, when the physician attempts to extract the largest piece of debris from her wound.  

Like before, the physician doesn't allow her to jerk away. Her hold on the soldier's calf iron strong. It makes one wonder as to where she obtained such a grip.

"It's the last piece." The physician said in her monotonous tone. "Try your best to hold still for me."

The soldier is reluctant of course. Her leg all tensed up, senses heightened. The physician knew if she continued the extraction, it would cause great pain to the soldier. She imagined the tears that would form in those pretty eyes the color of rich emeralds.

"Can't you just give me a little something to ease the pain?" The soldier asked as nicely as she could.

"I can't. Our supplies are limited and you're not of priority. Compared to the cases we have here, yours is just a minor cut." The physician explained.

The soldier though irritated, understood. She was one the very few, who helped carry the injured here after all. It was an unfortunate truth. Half her platoon was lying in those beds outside this shabby office of this bitchy doctor's. Bitchy as she may be, she was good at her job, which was frustrating.

The soldier leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Her dirt-covered hands gripping onto the bed tightly. Unclenching her jaw, she lets another one of her deep exhales.

"Do it."

"You have to relax," The doctor told her. "If you don't want it to hurt as much." 

The soldier feels the hand that traces the skin behind her knee in the smallest repetitive movements. Focusing on that, she lets herself loosen up. The tweezers sink in, but halfway through the soldier tenses up again. The pain was such a shock that the soldier kicked her leg, hitting the doctor's forearm with a force that sent her off her chair.

"Fuck! I'm sorry!" The soldier quickly apologized, attempting to get up, but the pain in her side prevented her from doing so.

"Are you okay?" She winced, asking the doctor on the ground.

The physician looked at the forming bruise on her forearm; the tweezers and the piece of extracted debris on the ground; the soldier's face, filled with worry and discomfort.

No tears.

"I'm alright." The physician huffs, picking herself up from the ground.

She snatches the tweezers and picks up the large piece of debris to drop it in the kidney dish. Then, she cleans her hands with an antiseptic wipe, tossing that into trash afterwards too.

"I'll have someone else clean you up." The physician says, already moving towards the door.

The soldier's hand comes out of nowhere, wrapping itself around the bruised spot. The flash of pain makes the physician gasp, the soldier loosens her hold immediately, apologizing a second time.

"I just wanted to see if I bruised you."

"You did." The physician says, pushing up her sleeve.

There was a red patch with purpling tints on her stark white skin. The physician drew her thumb over the spot, applying light pressure on the bruise. The same hand shot out, stopping her.

"Doesn't that hurt?" The soldier asked her. 

"It does."