For Better or For Worse (Loki x Reader)

Chapter Forty-Nine

As promised, there is the next chapter for you all!

Please enjoy!

(Y/N)'s POV

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The ever-present sound of water dripping from the ceiling into my cell was accompanied only by my strained breathing. My jaw ached as I ground down on the faded blue fabric held between my teeth. The thin fabric was the only thing keeping my screams from echoing through the desolate cell block. If the guard heard me screaming they would think they had won. But I wasn't done fighting yet.

With shaking hands, I brought the cup of ice-cold water to my side where the source of my pain resided. The gash on my side now looked less like a knife wound and more like one big festering blister. The skin around the wound was a terribly angry red and was splotchy in places. The skin circling the red, inflamed tissue had taken on a purple hue. Coming from the wound itself was a yellow-brown puss that stunk up the entire cell. The entire area was warm and tender to the touch; I could barely force myself to keep it wrapped at this point. In truth, I didn't think it would make that much of a difference.

The wound was already infected and it had been for far too long. I could feel it start to sap my strength. The raging fever I was sporting wasn't helping. My hands shook and my body had already given up on shivering in an attempt to make me warm. It didn't help that my body was accustomed to warmer weather, not the cold brought on by this damp cell.

Tightening my weak grip on the cup, I lifted the cup to just above the wound. I forced myself not to close my eyes – I had a limited amount of water that I couldn't afford to lose – and tilted the cup. The cold water cascaded over the wound, and I screamed into the fabric I had stuffed into my mouth only a few moments before. The freezing water against my heated flesh caused an insurmountable pain that I didn't have the words to properly describe. It caused my vision to white out, and when I did regain my composure, my hands were shaking far more than before, the cup lying on the ground not far from me.

I had done this countless times since I had been in this miserable cell, but it didn't make the experience any more bearable. Once I had finished the cup of water a guard had dropped off with the meager offerings they called food, I would place the cup underneath the steadily dripping water, collecting the ice-cold water so I had something to clean the wound with. And no matter how thirsty I was, I forced myself not to drink what I had collected as it was such a slow process. I knew how important keeping the wound as clean as possible was; there was a greater chance of dying of infection than dehydration. However, I was beginning to think continuing to clean the wound wouldn't make much of a difference.

When I had more control of my hands, I reached over to one of the filthy strips of fabric I had meticulously cut from my dress, not that it resembled a dress anymore. The sleeves had been ripped at the seams, and the cloth that had once fallen below my knees rested uncomfortably on my thighs. There were even strips of cloth missing from the body of the dress, but it at least gave me better access to the wound on my side.

Keeping the scrap of cloth clenched tightly between my teeth, I took the long strip of cloth and tied it around my middle in an attempt to cover most of the wound. As the infection spread, it was getting harder and harder to cover the entire wound. I could cover the gash itself, but there was nothing to protect the rest of the affected skin from the elements. Even if I could add more cloth, which was nothing short of putrid, it did very little to keep the cold out. And I was trying to conserve the fabric I had sectioned out. If I put the used, soiled cloth back over the wound, my efforts to clean the sickening wound would have been in vain.