Dunamis

Chapter 2: Along Comes a Stranger

 

L

ast night I was too tired to argue about sleeping here. I didn't have a choice in the matter. I couldn't have left here on my own two feet had I tried. Exhaustion and soreness had crept into my muscles and joints. I crawled onto the offered cot and slept for at least twelve hours.

The next morning the sun was hidden deep behind dark pewter storm clouds. The grey light that managed to penetrate the sheets of rain, as well as the sheets of tarp and fabric Hunter had tacked up over the broken windows, filled the cabin with that ominous yellow grey-green light that only thunderstorms can produce. The humidity is suffocating. Sweat was dripping in beads down my forehead and back.

Hunter was sitting in one of the four hand hewn chairs with his feet propped up on the end of the worn primitive kitchen table reading a torn and tattered roughly bound book. When I woke, he'd given me one also, along with a bowl of instant oatmeal with thick dark honey drizzled on top. I've been rereading the first page for two hours unable to give any of my attention to the fictional best seller in my hands. I was too busy convincing myself that my life right now was not indeed fictional. Alas it is not. The blossoming deep purple and yellow bruises on my swollen arms brought me back to reality.

Around noon I began getting restless and started contriving something to say. Coming up with nothing I opted to inspect the illusive splinter in my foot instead. As I sat up lifting my foot up over my other crossed knee the movement drew his attention.

"Everything okay?"

"Um, no actually." I said squinting and probing at the heel of my foot. Max nosed at it giving it his best effort to get a lick in.

The hidden splinter was no longer hidden but highlighted with a bright red swollen patch and a disgusting bit of yellow puss.

"Max. Down." Hunter barked while walking in my direction. I was momentarily distracted, not by his command, but by the fact that Max actually obeyed. He crouched down beside me to see what I was looking at, bringing yet more distractions my way as his scent of smoke and cedar drifted my way. He peered at my inflamed foot and I studied the little lines around his eyes, that were crinkling up around the deep blue multifaceted irises.

"You walked on that all day yesterday?" He asked sounding shocked. I figured this to be rhetorical so didn't answer. "May I?"

"No, it'll be fine." I brushed him off while delicately poking the tender puffy spot.

"No, it won't. Let me clean it out. And take a look at your head while I'm at it."

"Alright." I said flippantly well aware he was poised not to take no as an answer. He started with my head lifting the beige bandage to examine the stitches he had put in while I was unconscious the other night; I sat patiently on the cot hugging my knees as he cleaned and re-bandaged the delicate wound. Once finished he moved in front of me reaching for my foot. It hurt so bad that I pulled it away by reflex.

"It's alright. Let me see." He coaxed as if I were a small child.

Reluctantly I inched my foot towards him in slow motion. After a brief moment of consideration and feather like touches, he announced that the splinter would have to come out.

"Well I knew that already." I uttered, suppressing an eyeroll and thankful that 'no shit Sherlock' hadn't come out of my mouth instead.

"It's gonna hurt."

"I know that too. Please just do it already and get it over with!" I braced myself and scrunched my eyes tight.

My nails were dug into the mattress and tears were streaming down my face by the time he had the splinter pinched tightly between the slanted edges of a pair of cold metal tweezers. You'd think my foot had been sawed clean off from the amount of pain and I was disheartened to see how small the sliver of wood actually was that caused so much drama. I brushed away the tears and sniffled a bit, but quickly managed to rein it in pulling myself under control.