Remaining Daylight (#Wattys2016)

Track XII.

Within three days, we knew we were screwed.

It started when Hayden's cut didn't appear to be getting better.  Then, the skin around it didn't have fading redness.  If anything, it was getting worse.  He said his leg was still hurting, despite our salt water soaks and dousings of rubbing alcohol.  But, we still held onto hope.

Until the third day, when he woke up feeling weak with a fever.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

"You are sick.  You have to see a doctor," I insisted, reaching for his gauze to change it.  It was sticking to the wound, because something had seeped out onto it.  Not blood.  But something.

"A little longer, and it'll get better," Hayden insisted.  I sat up and reached out for his forehead.  My wrist laid across it, and I could tell just from that how warm his flesh felt.

"You are burning up," I replied.  "Something is seriously wrong."

"Just clean the wound and rewrap it.  I'll be okay," he said.

I unwrapped the gauze the rest of the way.  The cut had definitely gotten worse.  The skin around it was red, with streaks going up his leg.  He was going to hate me, but something was very wrong here.  I couldn't just let him stay out in the woods and hope it got better.  If we couldn't keep it from getting to this point, how were we supposed to make it better?

"Kick and scream all you want, but I am taking you to a doctor," I insisted.  I poured more alcohol on it, which managed to wash away some of the debris.  Then, I rewrapped it and went for my phone.  There had to be a doctor here that we could see.

"No," Hayden replied.

"Don't fight me on this.  You're going to lose."

"I'm not going."

"Do you want to die?  If this infection doesn't kill you, I just might.  For the love of God, please stop being so damn stubborn!"

"I just can't go."  Hayden's voice cracked as he said it.  I looked up to his face, realizing that his eyes were a little wet, and he looked absolutely terrified. 

"Hey," I said softly.  "Why are you so freaked out?"

Hayden didn't say anything.  He shook his head and broke eye contact. 

"You're afraid of the doctor, aren't you?" I asked.

"Please," he replied, his defenses crumbling.  He almost sounded like he was going to cry.  "Why would I be afraid of something so dumb?"

"I will be there.  You will not be alone.  They aren't going to do anything to you without your permission.  I promise, everything is going to be okay," I said.

Hayden nodded his head, wiping away the tears he was trying to desperately to hold back.  "I didn't even go to the doctor when I was puking for five days straight."

"This is different.  But you get this out of the way now, and then you don't get even more sick."

"Do whatever you want.  My input is no doctor."

I was so damn thankful that not only did Hayden have actual health insurance, but he had his wallet with his insurance card with him.  It meant we didn't have to fork out three hundred bucks for a doctor visit.  Even better, in less than three hours, we were sitting in the waiting room at a doctor's office, with a few little kids playing with some toys and parents sitting in chairs waiting. 

Hayden's knee was bouncing like mad.  He tapped his fingers, refusing to quit fidgeting.  Even his cheeks were a bit flushed.  I tried to grab his free hand to offer him a little comfort, but he pulled it away.