Guns & Roses (WATTYS 2017)

thirty four - clean & cut

I'm about to scream when I watch as Luka sits back into his seat, the SUV falling behind us quickly, the front windshield shattered to pieces. Luka's chest rises and falls quickly, but I still feel like I can't breath. I can't hear anything but the gunfire, and I can smell the burning smell. 

"Katya, the road!" Luka shouts from next to me, yanking me from my trance. My neck jerks, and I narrowly miss the car next to me, horns blaring. 

Luka's hand reaches out to grab the wheel, allowing me to sit back, and force air into my lungs. 

"Sorry."  I whisper softly, looking back at Roman. "You okay, Rome?" I ask. 

He nods, his jaw tight and his face slightly pink. 

"I swear, I'm never letting you drive again." Roman mutters, wiping sweat drenched tendrils of hair from his forehead. 

I laugh dryly. "I'll take that offer, hun."

I place my fingers back around the steering wheel as Luka lets his hands fall. 

"You okay?" I look over to Luka, asking him. He doesn't respond for a moment, his head hanging down slightly, his right arm gripping his left shoulder. 

"Luka." I ask again, reaching my hand out to touch him, but I pull it away as soon as I feel the warmth flooding his shirt. My fingers come away, red stained. 

"Jesus, Luka you're hurt." I whisper, and he looks back up at me. 

"I'm fine, it's just my shoulder, you need to keep driving." He says, but I watch as the color begins to disappear from his face and neck, his tanned skin paling slowly. 

"We need to get you to a hospital." I whimper, looking quickly for any exit signs, but seeing no hospitals. Just another fucking McDonalds. 

"No, no hospitals. Too risky. I'll be f-fine." He's stuttering now, the red patches growing on his shoulder and settling terror into my chest. 

They hit his shoulder, his left one. My eyes trail the line the bullet would have gone. It would have sank straight into my chest. 

Gulping, I peer forward and slam my foot down onto the gas, seeing a welcome center a mile away. 

I jerk the wheel over, driving over the grass and bumping wildly as I see a row of bathrooms. 

I park, yanking up the break. 

"Roman, do we have a first aid kit?" I ask frantically. He's staring at Luka, his mouth slightly open, frozen cold. 

"Roman! We don't have time for this!" I scream, my voice strangely brave. Braver than I'm truly feeling. 

He seems to wake up slightly as he points to the glove compartment in front of Luka. I pull it open, letting the white box fall into my hands. I also grab Luka's handgun, stuffing it into the waistband of my jeans, and exiting the car quickly. I find myself at the passenger door. 

"Roman, wait in here, you have your pistol, just don't die. I'll be back." 

"Don't get shot, Kat." He says, the nickname friendly but his tone deadly serious. 

I turn to Luka, and push my hands under his shoulders. He's still awake, just groggy. "Lean on me, Luka. Come on, it's not far." I whisper in his ear, and he nods with the tiniest movement. It's slow going, but adrenaline has given me more strength than I have ever had. 

I make my way to the line of bathrooms and pull it open, checking to see if anyone is inside. Luckily, it's empty. I pull Luka with me, laying him down on the ground by the sink, locking the door behind us. The yellow light of a single strip shines above us, giving this whole scene a horror movie vibe. 

"Katya?" Luka whispers softly, his voice hoarse. 

"You're okay, you've just lost some blood, but it's just in your shoulder. I've gotta get the bullet out." I respond, pushing my hair up behind my ears and taking a hold of Luka's ruined t-shirt, tearing it in half. I rise, rinsing out as much blood as I can and placing one of the strips around his arm, tightening it fiercely. He winces, and I feel that pang, that fear in my heart. 

"I'm sorry, it's my fault." I whisper, opening the first aid kit, and finding a pair of tweezers. 

"Katya." It's all he says, staring up at me. 

"I'm here, you're fine. I just need you to not scream when I do this." I grit my teeth, digging the tweezers into his shoulder, hearing the tearing of flesh and blood, and the grinding of his teeth. 

Finally, I feel the clink of metal hitting metal, and am able to latch onto the bullet. 

"Inhale." I whisper to Luka, and yank, pulling the bullet from his shoulder. He lets out the faintest cry, and pained tears spill from his eyes slightly. 

"You're okay." I whisper again, pressing a torn shred of his shirt against the wound, cleaning it as best as I can, and beginning to sew it shut. 

"You're good at this." He whispers, a smirk on his lips. His eyes are closed, but he's perked up slightly. 

"Yeah, well, you don't have the best track record with, you know, not getting shot, and actually, getting shot in front of me. I'm your bad luck charm, churro." I chuckle slightly. The wound is stitched, messily, but it'll work for now. I find antiseptic and bandages in the kit, which make him wince as I apply them. 

"You haven't called me that in a long time." His voice is barely a whisper. 

"What?"

"Churro." He chuckles, and his eyes follow my hands as I finish wrapping the wound. 

I smile slightly, lifting myself to my feet, and washing the blood off of my fingers, from beneath my nails. 

Now that I know he's okay, the exhaustion begins to fill me again, the adrenaline leaving my veins, and I sink down against the wall next to Luka, his right and unhurt shoulder against mine. 

Tears well up in my eyes, and I lean my head against his shoulder. 

"It was supposed to hit me." I mutter, staring down at my fingers, still caked. 

"What?" He looks down at me, his eyes hooded and drained. 

"The bullet, it should have hit me instead." I don't return his gaze. 

I don't return it until his fingers gently grip my chin and lift my eyes to watch him. His eyes are stone set, serious, and determined. 

"I'd do it a hundred times, gringa." I laugh slightly, tears slipping past my lips. 

His eyes follow the droplets, and his jaw tightens as it always does, and he brings his lips down to mine. I can taste blood, salt, and pain in his touch, the softness of his lips contrasted by the immediate danger of our lives. But I accept his embrace.