m i d g e t

10; gives no fucks

   " do you even know how to take a bullet out ?" i lean on the door frame as hamilton stayed sitting on the edge of the bathtub. he had blood trickling down his calf and more in the tub.

   " i'm gonna faint ." he deadpans, i furrow my brow in confusion.

   " don't ?" my voice cracks, i don't exactly know what to say. i look into the first aid kit, spotting all the supplies. there's a couple tools he doesn't have.

   " put pressure, i'm getting something ." i walk out and look in the other first aid kit, taking out the lighter and whiskey.

   " and why can't we go to the hospital ?" i ask kneeling beside the tub,

   " because i can't ." he shifts on the bathtub wall so one leg is on the outer side and one leg is in. this way i can get closer.

   " here ," i give him the whiskey, he gives me a funny look," drink it dumbass ."

   " fuck you ." he takes a swig of the bottle and makes a disgusted face. without warning i pour some onto his wound. he flinches away.

   " what the fuck jefferson !" he almost falls off the side of the tub, i hold up my hands defensively.

   " i'm just doing what i know !" i say back, i pour it again and i can see his hands clenching harder on the wall of the tub. he's trying to act tough.

   " okay, this is gonna hurt way worse ." i hold his thigh in my hand to steady his shaking, only so i can lower the chance of cutting a vein.

   " just fucking do it ." i force the knife into the wound, making hamilton yelp. it takes me a minute to dig the bullet out, after that more blood comes out, so i have to work quick. i wouldn't want him to die from blood loss. i don't want him to die period.

   he has a kid. a kid deserves his father.

   " just take this ." i give him the whiskey bottle, motioning for him to drink it. he'll need it anyways.

   i rinse the knife off and put it over the lighter once the flame is up. i wait until it turns red. in one swift motion i dump whiskey onto the wound again then press the knife to it. all the while hamilton is screaming bloody mary. i take a bandage and wrap it around hamilton's leg.

   " good job, you made it through your first bullet wound experience ." i gently pat his thigh and stand back up. i start to clean up when hamilton stops me.

   " you have glass in your cheek and arm ." i had forgot about the mini shards of glass that hit me. i would ask for him to take them out, because i don't know how, but he just went through hell and back.

   " i was just going to let it sit there for a while ." no one says that. he handed me the first aid kit and limped off. he's limping?

   " your limping ." i stay looking into the mirror, seeing his refelction turn around.

   " it's fine ." he goes around the corner to the beds. i silently curse myself, not telling him i needed help. hello infections.

   i undo my tie and unbutton my dress shirt. the glass went through the fabric and into my arm, so i needed to take the shirt off. that's a start.

   i take pliers from the kit but eventually put them back down. what if the glass breaks? what if there's just glass stuck in my arm and cheek forever? i don't want that.

   i take the ballsy route and walk out to the corner, hamilton is facing away, but without a shirt, just joggers. he had countless scars on his back, wrapping around to his front. i opened my mouth for a second before turning back around and returning to sulking. i stare at the glass in my bicep, as if i can telepathically move it out.