The window was cracked open, making it easier for him to lift silently with his good arm. Both the shoulder and the ankle were throbbing, and as he swung his legs in through the window, his ankle cracked against the radiator, sending his sprawling across the dark side of the bedroom. Grimacing, Brannock bit his tongue-he didn't want to wake her if she was sleeping. Least he could do for the frequent restless or sleepless nights he had caused her. She stirred, and murmured, but did not appear to wake.
He mostly crawled towards the bed, removing his boots and what clothes he could while moving that way, and sort of half pulled half shimmied up the side of the bed. His ankle now throbbed again, and he could feel it swelling quickly. He should ice it at the moment, basic first aid shit he had to learn years before, but, it would no worse in the morning. For now, he needed warmth, not cold, and the touch of a woman that his body and brain craved.
Over the years, he had known addicts of all sorts-it kinda came with the territory, since he protected those who really could not defend themselves. Those people were the most vulnerable, and were almost always found on the other side of the tracks, on the poorest farm, in the mining communities, wherever. And addicts were all over those places. It was sad, but he had come to accept them, as he accepted any who needed him. He used to see them as weak, unable to control whatever vice they needed-drugs, booze, sex, gambling, porn. He had fought blood sucking creatures, and they had that same driving need for blood. He didn't understand it at first. But lately, he did. He needed her, and when she wasn't around, his synapses fired slowly and his body felt empty and spent. She seemed to plug into a receptor somewhere, like caffeine or nicotine or xanax or heroin. It really wasn't different. He couldn't get away from her, and he didn't want to. She was always in his mind and in this thoughts. He had certainly not felt this way in a long while, if he ever actually had.
He knew better than to try and explain to any of the others. They'd say "here you go again, trying to save people from themselves. That's not what we do" or "Get the fuck out, you're like a chick with all that touchy feely shit" before getting the masculine punch in the arm or push in the chest. Part of the pain of this job was that, really, there was NO one to talk to. You had to suck it up and keep going, whether your problem was personal or professional. It was true, in all fairness; "they" did have a support network of sorts, and guys would be taken off line for a break if it was deemed of great importance. His problem was that firstly, heartache or obsession was not going to get him any sympathy or a vacation, and secondly, so many guys had been killed or maimed in recent weeks that no way would anyone get a break anytime soon. And no signs had appeared lately for any new "recruits", at least not around here. That was disconcerting to say the least. While the newbies were basically useless at first it didn't take most long to get up to speed. Well, the ones that didn't die in the first week on the "job".
As he removed his underwear and undershirt, he was able to get a look at his chest and body. He had bruises all across his chest and sides, his right hip already had a deep, dark splotch on it-he thought he had landed there when he got thrown out into the street. He didn't have many cuts on his body per se, but he could feel the forming scabs on his face pulling on his skin. His bottom lip was split and puffy but no longer bleeding. Felt like one of his eyes was swelling shut. She was gonna flip when she saw him in the daylight. Heck, HE was probably going to flip when he finally looked in a mirror. He'd had the crap beaten out of him dozens if not hundreds of times over the years, but nothing like this, and nothing recently.
Finally naked, he had to plop down into bed-he was too sore and stiffening up too much to be gentle or careful about it. The soft cool sheets were soothing, and they smelled of her, but the pressure now on his various wounds was uncomfortable. Either way, he knew he would sleep. And sleep he did, quickly.
