by Mariah Lynde
“You know it.” Grinning a little, I peered over at him. Giving him a look that I hoped seemed apologetic and somewhat meek as my hand lifted to point at his arm. “Gonna start by wiping down that arrow with alcohol. From the way it looks, I’d say it’s a pretty clean wound. Considering you’re moving your lower arm and hand without any difficulty, I’d say it burrowed it’s way mostly through skin and a little fatty tissue. You got lucky; it could have been a lot worse. Still, this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch and I’ll need you to stay still so that you don’t jerk the arrow around and do yourself any major damage.”
“Ugh, Alcohol? Why not Peroxide or something? Isn’t that just as good?” This time he sounded annoyed, almost as if he might be thinking I was doing this just to cause him discomfort.
“Not if you want to avoid the hospital. Those arrows have been locked up for a few years, but they have been used outdoors before. There could be any number of germs and bacteria on them, even dead. That’s not including just what you and that arrow came in contact with today. While Peroxide is nice, it doesn’t really disinfect, so I’m afraid you’ll have to suck it up.” In less than ten seconds my voice had gone from smart-ass, laid back amusement to a cool, clinical medical voice that brooked no argument from a difficult patient.
At this point, any illusion that Cal Mitty would be a pliable person to anyone be they doctor, subordinate, or some unnamed Joe on the street was gone. He had made it more than clear that he had and always would be a pain in the ass to anyone who crossed his path with a different view.
“Fine.” Watching him as his face scrunched up in something close to a grimace, he gave a huff of breath as if someone had inconvenienced him. That action made me arch a brow as I looked down at him.
“Don’t look so happy about it. You know if you want the platinum club treatment, you can always head to the nearest hospital.” Smirking at him, I moved to pop open a box of nitrile gloves, kind of grinning when I saw that they just happened to be purple.
“Yeah, like that would be a really wonderful idea. If…” He trailed off, seemingly searching for a word in that moment and finding none as he gave a sigh before continuing, “With what we saw last night, I think I’d rather risk an infection here. The way I see it, is if people are being infected then the hospitals will be the first place they start turning up, which pretty much just makes it a jailer’s box of guaranteed death.”
My eyes widened as I heard his summation. Not that he was wrong in what he said, it just surprised me that he had automatically started to draw that line of conclusion. While it may not have been full acceptance of the situation, it certainly held the markers of heading in that direction.
Still, it was no less of a shock to hear him say it. For me, well I would expect such a thing because it reeked of overly cautious paranoia and a small bit of snarky self-preservation. To hear it come out of his mouth? I would have believed one had a better chance of seeing a pig fly with little cherub angel wings.
“Not saying you’re wrong, but less than a half hour ago, you refused to believe what you had seen for yourself. What changed?” My voice held a trace of curiosity. Not that I could have helped it, but his complete one eighty in such a short amount of time had me on edge.
“You mean other than getting shot with an arrow?” His lips quirked up in a small twisting motion that denoted amusement, something that I answered by squeezing some of the alcohol out of a cotton ball over the shaft of the arrow closest to his wound. His answering hiss of pain had me smiling right back at him.
“You…weren’t…shot.” Leaning back to watch the shifting look of irritation on his face, I smiled sweetly in response before I spoke again. “You fell on it after you tried to get to me for telling you the truth. Then you took an unexpected siesta from shock. Unfortunately, when you took said siesta, you landed on said arrow and pinned me down beneath you.”
“That doesn’t count as a self-inflicted wound. I maintain my position.” Cal’s voice cracked out and echoed off the walls of my small apartment and brought me pause.
“Which one?” I asked.
“The one about me having you pinned beneath me. If I were to do that I can promise far different results.” This time he smirked and I just rolled my eyes at him. Of course, he was proclaiming himself to be God’s gift in the bedroom. It shouldn’t have surprised me, and in truth it didn’t, I just found it highly annoying.
“Yeah, as if that would ever happen.” Grimacing a little, my focus turned to cleaning the shaft of the arrow. While he may have found enjoyment in trying to string me along, I didn’t have the patience to play games.
“It could.” He spoke softly and I stopped my actions to tug lightly at the feathered fletching on the arrow to turn it a little. When he winced, I stilled my fingers and offered a small smirk.
“No, it couldn’t. You and I both know that.” Leaving the rest unsaid, I moved to toss the used cotton balls in the trash.
“You seem pretty sure of that. Is it because you’re interested in women?” Cal’s question left me stunned. My hands hovering over the trash bag I’d made out of one of the plastic grocery bags. Briefly I considered just throwing the bag over his head and being done with the whole conversation. Sadly that pesky morality of mine got in the way of such a thing.
So I went with option two. Robbie called it ‘medic mode’. This particular trick was something I learned while working on the EMS trucks back home. Basically, it is the ability to compartmentalize your thoughts and emotions, shutting off your basic feelings and choosing the ones needed to process a situation for a patient’s benefit. This ability allows you to function despite the fact you are seeing some of the most horrific things imaginable.
It’s secondary use? Well, that happened to be choosing to shut yourself down emotionally so you don’t react to problem patients by strangling them on the way to the hospital. If you had ever heard Robbie describe my particular ‘medic mode’ you’d have thought he was describing a Terminator.
One could almost consider this ability a godsend for Cal Mitty. With his most recent faux pas in asking if I were a lesbian just because I didn’t fall for his lines, there would have been one less male in the world.
Stereotypes were honestly something to be despised. Then again, hadn’t I done the same with him? That particular thought brought me pause. How was I any different than him? Which brought me back to his question, how should I answer him?
In the end, I chose to ‘medic mode’ my way through the answer.
“No, I don’t like girls.” The fact that my voice remained even should have been considered some kind of miracle. Studying the tip of the arrow, I suppose I should have been happy that those particular arrows had all been set for target shooting. The smooth surface of the easy pull tips would make the removal fairly easy.
Still, my answer did not seem to appease him. Even while I worked to wrap my fingers around the shaft of the arrow he started to shift in his seat to look at me.
“Then why not?” Cal asked and it became my turn to huff in exasperation. As he moved to turn towards me, my fingers tightened on the shaft of the arrow. That moment when he turned, I tugged on the shaft pulling the arrow back to dislodge it from where it had burrowed under his skin.
Truth be told, it could have been a lot worse. Using his own movement to help facilitate the removal of the arrow had been risky. If I had miscalculated there could have been a lot more damage, not the least of which would have been ripping open the whole spot on his arm where the arrow had been under the skin. It seemed that for once, fate had been on my side. The wound itself was smaller than I would have thought.
Since the arrow had been just beneath the surface of his skin, the perfectly round puncture marks on both the front and back of his arm were oozing blood slowly. Meeting his gaze, I smiled a little as the hollow carbon shaft of the arrow dropped on the table with a soft ping.
“Ow. You could have warned me.” His voice sounded like that of a petulant
child forced to get a shot.
“If I had warned you, then you would have tensed up.”My answer was almost cheery as I grabbed some gauze to press down on his arm to get the wound to stop oozing.
“Fair point, so while we’re waiting on this particular form of torture to end, tell me why it is I would never have you pinned beneath me. You said you don’t like girls, so I would assume that means you are into guys. Am I not your type?” He hissed as my grip on his arm tightened and a small inner part of me reveled in his painful discomfort. Still, the squeaky delivery of that last question as his voice pitched up an octave made me chuckle.
“In what sense?”Eager to keep his mind on something else while I worked on cleaning the wound and getting it covered. While this particular subject made me more than a little uncomfortable it seemed a far cry better than discussing the reanimated dead.
“In any sense, I mean do you not find me physically attractive? Is it my personality? What is it that makes me not your type?” To give credit where credit was due, Cal Mitty was definitely a man that had no qualms about doggedly pursuing answers to his questions. As rough and bully like as that may seem, I could definitely appreciate his almost in-your-face approach.
“You sure you want to hear this? I mean, I am the woman currently holding your injured arm in my clutches.” Let it never be said that I didn’t give someone a way out of what could potentially be a horribly embarrassing conversation.
“Does it matter where it comes from if it’s something I don’t want to hear?” Cal’s voice reached my ear and rang with a subtle honesty that I couldn’t really deny. He had a point. If the answer that he was given didn’t happen to coincide with what he wanted, did it really matter who gave it to him?
“No, not really I suppose.” Answering that part first, my fingers moved to drag some of the alcohol soaked gauze over his wound. Hearing his hiss of pain, I continued, “In answer to your question, no you’re not my type. It has nothing to do with your physical appearance, but to be honest that would never be a factor anyway. Reality is, if I weren’t sitting here dressing this wound right now, you never would have made the statement about having me underneath you and this conversation would never have happened.”
Well, he’d wanted honest. Seeing the look on his face, it became pretty clear he had not been prepared for just how honest an answer he would be given.
“That’s pretty…in depth for something that was only brought up a few minutes ago.” His voice held a bit of disbelief mingled with anger.
“Well, believe it or not, in my life it is a subject that comes up often.” Setting aside the now pink colored gauze I peered at him. He seemed perplexed by my answer. Since I needed to finish patching him up, it occurred to me that expanding on this particular subject would help to keep him still. “In all honesty, you’d not even be aware I existed if it weren’t for yesterday.
“After what happened in the lobby, you wanted answers and I just happened to be the person you fixated on to get them. You’re one of the big wigs in the company that gives orders and expects to have answers when you want them. You’re also someone used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. Judging by your dismissive attitude on the phone yesterday and how you acted today when you came here looking for answers, I’d say that in all things you’re used to having your way.” I spoke softly, moving to grab a couple of cotton swabs to clean the inside of the wound better.
“That almost sounds like a judgment on my character, Miss Warren.” It would have been difficult to miss the amusement that colored his voice. However, even that did very little to mask the small underlying tone of hurt that seemed to surge in the undercurrent of those overly simple words.
“It is and it isn’t. You know as well as I do, the world is separated by class and social differences. The circles you move in, are those of people that the world is a little kinder to. Live in that world long enough and you come to expect the finer things in life. That also includes people. I’m not exactly the high-brow socialite type for someone like you to date or flirt with, not unless it gives you an advantage.
“At this point any flirtation is because you think I serve a purpose in the current situation you face. I’m a realist, I know I’m not your type and I’m not going to make myself a fool by pretending otherwise.” Giving him a smile, I started to draw the tip of the cotton swab laced with alcohol over the edges of the wound.
“Well, I suppose that is pretty honest, if not a little judgmental. With all the things you have said to me, don’t you find that a tad hypocritical and harsh?” His question gave me pause. My movements stilled as I watched him and then arched a brow.
“You forgot cynical, but that’s just me.” I turned my attention back to the wound. “You’re right though, I suppose it is a rather fractured way to view things but it makes for a lot less pain and disappointment.” Keeping my voice steady while I answered him, I set aside one cotton swab before grabbing another and rolling it in antibiotic ointment.
“Still, don’t you find it hypocritical? Not to mention that it is almost exactly what you accused me of being earlier?” Without peering at him, I knew that his gaze was fixed on me. It took everything in me not to stare directly back at him. Instead, I focused on his wound while I answered.
“In a way, yes I suppose so. What I said is extremely judgmental but none of it was said in malice or an effort to control you. I didn’t manipulate or lie to get you out of my hair, I told the truth however costly it may have been for me. I’m not going to give a person false hope, or in your case, send you off believing a lie and making you a walking target.
“For the most part, I try to be open about what I think. Believe me, my lack of filter has gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion but tell me what part of it was wrong? Can you honestly say you haven’t gotten used to having things your way all the time?
“Truth is, you can’t. Your behavior today proved that. You didn’t come here to talk about any job, but to deal with what you saw last night. While that in itself is kind of telling, the way you went about it says more. When you walked around my house after not getting an answer from knocking on my front door, you went to seek me out to assert you position. You demanded an audience for your theory and acted like a petulant child when things shifted out of your control. All of these were actions that show little consideration or care for anyone other than yourself.” Finishing softly, I dropped the now pinkish cotton swab into the makeshift trash bag on the table.
“Well, don’t you just have everything figured out.” His voice held a harsh tone indicating he was less than amused. A small part of me shriveled at the idea of being so brutally honest that my words hurt him, but it seemed prudent to cut to the chase at the moment. The beginning of the end had already started and I had things other than people’s delicate emotions to worry about.
“I never said that. Still, it seems to me you wouldn’t be so upset about what I said if there wasn’t some truth to it.” I moved to grab a few butterfly strips and start to pull the edges of the wound together to tape over them.
This time, my answer gave him pause. Who could blame him? No one else had been around to hear my accusations, so the only reason for him to be so upset was that he recognized some kind of truth in what I had said. Anyone, no matter where they stood in society, did not do well when confronted with their own flaws.
I’d experienced it more than once in my life. Those moments where you found yourself on blast and the other person had arrows that hit pretty close to the mark, took the wind out of your sails. When times like that came around, you were left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Weak.
That thought alone gave me second thoughts about continuing that line of conversation. Maybe I’d shed light on something that he himself had not considered, but it didn’t mean I had to flay him completely open and bare. If I did something like that there was a chance it could doing weaken him surviving in the immediate future. Someone who didn’t have their head in the game,
were liable to make mistakes and get hurt. My aim wasn’t to make Cal Mitty a liability, but to make him aware of the world and people around him. The effect he had on others was something that he needed to be aware of. Maybe doing that meant he could rein in that part of his nature that was so condescending.
Small as it may be, if Cal Mitty were to be among the survivors of a plague it would only help his case to not be seen as a complete asshole. While I cannot claim to be an expert on an apocalyptic world, one thing I knew for sure that movies had right was what happened to the jerks in such scenarios. When it came down to survival, those that were seen as problem elements were eliminated by their own pride or people leaving them to their fate because they couldn’t stand them. While I had no real attachment to this man, I could see the benefits of his survival, even if he could act like a jerk.
“I’m sorry you see me that way. I suppose you’re right. I’ve gotten very used to a world where I have what I want when I want it. People don’t usually challenge me, so you’re something of an anomaly, Miss Warren.” That soft admittance had me pausing to observe at him. If nothing else, at least some of what I said to him seemed to have an impact.
“You say that like it really doesn’t happen at all.” Snorting a little, one hand moved to pinch together the sides of the wound on the back of his arm. My other hand was carefully applying the butterfly strips with as much precision as I could muster. “Whether you’re used to it or not, I can’t tell whether you mean that as a compliment or an insult. Could be seen as a positive or a negative I guess, just depends on how you see it.”
Despite my focus on the task at hand, I could feel his gaze resting on me while I worked. Part of me wanted nothing more than to lift my gaze and stare right back at him, but I stamped down the urge. The sad fact of the matter happened to be I would be relieved when this man was on his way and I had my personal space back.
“I’d consider it a positive, at least right this second.” He spoke softly and for a moment my hands stilled. When he started to speak once again, I was already back to work on closing the small wound. “When everyone tells you everything you want to hear, it’s easy to be blind to the truth. I suppose being told the naked truth in a time of crisis is something that we would all prefer. Being told you’ve become a crap human being in the aftermath is a little hard to swallow though.”