Miss Mayhem

xxxi. medical attention

xxxi. medical attention 

     SLOWLY PULLING THE strap of the vest, she let it drop off her chest and slap onto the floor. For awhile, she forgot all about it and the aching wound being pressed on. As she peeled away her shirt, however, she couldn't deny how bad it was.

The cut was gruesome and the piece of glass had been pushed even further into place. Wincing as she slowly pulled her shirt up, she groaned. The glass was lodged between two of her ribs and she didn't know if it had punctured anything or if there was any internal bleeding or not.

"Jackson," she called out, slowly walking away from Denver's bed and towards the door. He was in front of her almost immediately, due to the distress in her voice. When he reached her, his eyes were plastered to her face, but he could barely see it as her hair fell in front of her expression.

"What is it?"

"Look," she murmured, feeling slightly nauseated and light headed. She knew she'd lost enough blood to knock her out but before, when the adrenaline was coursing through her veins, she didn't notice it. Now, however, after she'd pulled the vest off, it became obvious she was going to need stitches.

He groaned, taking the fabric from between her fingers into his hand. Examining the cut, he shook his head and reached into his back pocket. Pulling out his phone, which now had a shattered screen, he speed dialed Denver's number.

"Hello?" He answered, causing Jackson to ignore his greeting. At the moment, a small salutation was the least of his worries, as he looked over the glass slightly peeking out from Rinn's side.

He spoke in a demand, one high enough that even if he had superiors, they would've followed his directions without hesitation or disagreement, "Your house, first aid kit, call Brandi . . . and do it yesterday."

"Is everything o-"

Jackson pressed end and stuffed the phone into his back pocket. For a moment, he didn't know what to do or how to react . . . and then, he remembered something Jim Crow used to tell him in times of need.

He'd told Jackson, "When a Crow is hurt, everything else is put to the back burner. You need to turn off your emotions. Turn off the thoughts that make you worry and think only about the injured Crow. If a bird's wings are broken, son, that bird can't fly . . . Fix them before you fix yourself."

"Who's Brandi?" Rinn asked, sounding slightly tired. Gritting his teeth together, he ignored her question and told her to lift her arms as high as she could go. They stopped around shoulder length and he grumbled that he would have to cut it off.

"What?" She ask, spinning a little in her mind, "Cut what off?"

His words had puzzled her, but even in her confusion, his facial expression didn't change. He wasn't focused on what she was saying; he was directing his attention to the shirt in his hands before his hand reached into his pocket.

Pulling out his pocket knife and flipping it open, he gently cut through her shirt fabric and gripped it in his hand. She was left standing in front of him in only a bra and he apologized before asking her to follow him. She nodded and he grabbed her wrist, worried that if he didn't make sure she was behind him, she would end up in a much worse condition that she already was.

They headed downstairs and to the bathroom. Once there, he asked her to sit down on the toilet and stay still. She did as he said, which caused him to nod in approval. He never thought he would have to clean her up after a shoot out . . . but he figured a piece of glass lodged in her was better than a bullet.

"I need to put pressure on it to make sure it doesn't keep bleeding, okay?" He asked, causing her to nod and lean back into the wall. Closing her eyes and relaxing herself, she felt Jackson press a clean fabric onto the wound, causing her to flinch in the opposite direction.