Rules of Survival | afi

night six

It's so amazing when
someone comes to your life
and you expect nothing out of it
but suddenly, there,
right in front of you ,
is everything you ever needed.

•••

Being in constant motion all day, I've been able to ignore the pain of my injuries. But now that I'm still, calm, sitting against this rough concrete wall, my whole body is throbbing.

The sun has set, nothing but the soft moonlight peeking through the cracks of the leaves at the entrance of the tunnel to illuminate us. It's a concrete cylinder, roughly six feet in diameter. I can barely see the other end. We're packed tight, my legs pressing against Ashton's, backs on opposite sides of the tunnel.

We've never been this close for this long. It's only been an hour, yet it feels like it's been days.

I shift my weight, wincing, knocking knees with Ashton. He grimaces, hands clutching his abdomen. He's about as banged up as I am.

It's weird, how normal this feels. We haven't spoken since we've got in here but it's a welcome, comfortable silence. Like we've finally learned how to be in each other's company without awkward tension.

Nevertheless, I'm desperate for some sort of pain relief. The metallic smell of blood has taken over the space, mingling with the stench of mildew already in the air. We need to get cleaned up before we start to attract something.

"Ash." I mutter, rubbing my temple. "Can you get to one of the first aid kits?"

Our bags are packed next to us to block most of the light from the opposite side. After a good bit of struggling and swearing, Ashton manages to yank one out. It hasn't been opened yet.

Even though I know we have to save it, my eyes travel to the little silver box clipped to Ashton's belt. The serum would be instant relief from the pain in my back, my hands, the scratch marks on my chest from that bastard creep. But we can't use it. We have to save it.

Ashton seems to be thinking the same thing, because he gives the box a look of longing as he rips open a fresh pack of alcohol wipes. "Man, I could go for some morphine right now."

"Wouldn't we all." I reply, holding out my hand. "Gimme some."

We clean our wounds in silence, and I jiggle open the bottle of shitty painkillers to gulp five of them down. Ashton does the same, and within ten minutes the throbbing has eased to a tolerable ache. It's still uncomfortable as hell, but it'll have to do.

"Are you doing ok?" Ashton whispers, but his voice still seems loud in this tiny space. His face is so close I can feel his breath. "You seemed really shaken up earlier over that psychopath in the shack."

I shake my head. "I'm just.... shocked. I've seen a lot of shit, Ash. They send marines in to handle the dirty stuff on missions, the stuff nobody wants to handle. Those foreign terrorists-" I shudder. "But I have never, ever seen anything like that."

Ashton swallows, studying my face silently. His own is filthy, sweat shining on his skin, but to me he's never looked more attractive. I curse myself inwardly for having unimportant thoughts.

"I don't know. After finding my family like that.." He bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Hard enough for the skin to turn white. "Nothing like that really effects me anymore. It didn't on the force, and it doesn't here."

I give him a once over, and notice he's balled his hands into tight fists. Without really thinking about it I reach over, pulling his hands into my own and working them open again.