Reckless Hearts

Chapter 9

You groaned, as you awoke. You felt your arm throb. At least it wasn't the burning pain you had before.

Your arm wasn't the only thing that was throbbing. Your head felt like there was a wild mustang inside, kicking at the inside of your skull, to try and get out.

You hadn't even attempted to open your eyes yet. You felt something wet and cold on your forehead, so you forced your eyes to open.

You were surprised to see Arthur, sitting by the side of your cot. It was dark, apart from a dimly lit lantern, sitting on the side table.

You tried to put your hand, to your head. But Arthur gently pulled it away.

"Easy does it." he whispered gently.

You looked across at you throbbing arm, vaguely remembering what had happened.

"My head hurts," you groaned.

"I'll see if Susan has anything, what about your arm?" He asked.

You closed your eyes, "yeah, that too," you added.

Arthur stood up and left your tent.

It seemed like ages, before he returned. But not with Susan. Another man came into the tent. You'd seen him before, but not spoken to him. Nor did you know who he was. But looking at him, you saw that he was dressed like some sort of priest.

You looked across at Arthur, "I ain't gonna die, am I?" You panicked. Maybe he was here to give you the last rights. You couldn't remember the last time you'd gone to church. In fact, you didn't think you'd ever been.

Arthur chuckled, "No, you ain't gonna die. Reverend Swanson here, he's got some stuff that'll help with the pain."

You stared, as the man brought out a syringe.

You quickly shook your head, you knew what it was. By the man's sallow complexion. and the dark rings around his eyes, you knew that what was in the needle. You also knew that he usually took it himself. You'd seen it before, the look of an addict, when you were a kid.

"No," you screamed, "keep that shit away from me."

"It'll help with the pain," the reverend retorted, as he tried to grab your arm.

You tried to pull it away, but his grip was too strong.

"I said No," you shrieked, "get your fucking hands off me."

You screwed your eyes shut, as the throbbing in your head became more intense.

You felt your arm being released. So you clasped it to your chest. Your breathing heavy, until the panic, began subside.

You felt a hand on your forehead, so you tried to push it away. But it was strong, immovable. Then another hand, firmly but gently pulled your hand away.

You opened your eyes again.

"Dutch?" You squinted. "I ain't taking no morphine," you groaned.

He raised his eyebrows. "Even when you're at death's door, it appears you won't do as your told." he concluded.

You frowned, "Arthur said I wasn't dyin'. I ain't dyin, am I?" You questioned.

Dutch shook his head, "No, you're not. But you are in a bit of a bad way." he replied. "You need to rest. At least do that, and refrain from screaming. We'd all like to get a little sleep!" He added.

You sighed, and closed your eyes. Every so often, you'd feel something cool on your forehead. It helped the headache, but did nothing for the throb in your arm. You didn't know if it was Dutch or Arthur, that sat with you. But eventually you drifted back off to sleep.