Nothing is, but what is not // John Shelby

XXIII

Getting back to Birmingham took them longer than they would like it. While Arthur was driving, Beth pulled her shirt out of her skirt and using her keys, she ripped off a long piece of it.
"Beth, you don't have to—"
"Give me your arm" once again the girl firmly cut him mid-sentence. John meekly let her wrap his bleeding wound. It hurt like hell, but he tried not to show it, only allowing himself to bite on his lip.
"Thanks" John murmured, when Beth made a knot on this provisional bandage. He got no answer. Not even a glimpse.

Polly was already waiting for them, as if she somehow sensed it would be a bloody night. Instead of compassion, John only got a scolding look, as he sat down on the sofa, closing his eyes in silent suffering.
"Do you know how to handle this?" Polly pushed a small bag with actual bandages to Beth's hands. The girl nodded, the woman pushed her gently towards the living room, and then went straight to Arthur, asking him questions he was not able to answer. He had too much whiskey that night.
Beth sat down next to John, opening the bag, and reaching for his arm to reveal the injury. For a moment she struggled with the knot, which she herself made too tight, while John tried to pretend it didn't hurt him at all. The wound was still bleeding. The piece of fabric that used to be Beth's shirt not that long ago, was now completely soaked with blood.
The girl hesitated, taking scissors to her hand, so she could cut John's sleeve, which was already ruined anyway, sticking to his skin. The pieces of the shirt she cut off were piling on her lap, because Beth didn't want to make the sofa dirty. She carefully wiped the blood trickling from the wound, wanting to take a better look on what it actually looked like.
"The cabinet on the left" John's voice was hoarse. Now, when the whole adrenaline was gone, he started being aware of his arm pulsating, and of the sweat on his forehead "Take the spiritus from it."

Disinfection, getting rid of the bullet from the bleeding wound, and then applying stitches seemed like hours. For John it was because it was all taking place on his own body, and for Beth because she was the one trying to make it as correctly as possible.
Now she was slowly watching as the needle went through John's skin, while he was shivering slightly. Fortunately the morphine he took a moment before was making the pain easier to bear. He was exhausted, yet awake enough to observe how Beth tentatively stitched his arm.
"Imagine it is just fabric, sweetheart" he whispered, seeing how her hands were shaking slightly every time she was pulling the needle through his flesh. For the first time in her life she didn't have any power over the needle. Finally she finished. She leaned her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh. The pieces of John's shirt, soaked in blood, resting on her lap, were making her skirt equally red. Beth felt how tears started forming in her eyes. John put his hand on her knee.
"Beth..." he muttered, the girl looked at him "Congratulations, you just stitched your first wound" he smiled, but there was no change on the girl's pale face.
"I am sorry" his hand gently caressed her thigh "You shouldn't have seen it."
"You said it was the end of... All this" she whispered, not looking at him.
"I truly thought it was the end" John said slowly "But just because I ended this life, it doesn't mean it has ended with me" He once again tried to make her smile. It didn't work.