First To Be Last

8. Art Is Cruel

BEING THE YOUNGEST OUT OF A NUMEROUS FAMILY, Thea and Finn have been overlooked a couple of times in their lives. But never, never before has either of them ended up with a single scratch from it. Now, as she lay on a table in the Garrison booth, Thea swore to never get out of her brother's word ever again.

She clung to John's arm for dear life with her whole body, wincing whenever the skin from where the bullet had entered her leg stretched. John held onto his younger sister, damning her from time to time when he remembered how stupid she had been. They had just finished stitching up Tommy, and when her aunt Pol fixed her eyes on the young girl, Thea knew to not let go of her brother's arm. "Well, come here, then. Let's finish this already—"

Dorothea shook her head throughly "You're not doing the shit to me, I swear I'll scream it!"

Arthur tried to reassure her, nudging her arm slightly "It don't hurt that bad, Thea girl. It'll be over 'fore you know it, eh, John?" He said, looking over to his brother for a positive answer. John smirked "Just a pinch."

Dorothy's unsure eyes travelled through the crowded space, full of faces. "Liars! The lot of you!" She then stopped to speak with Thomas, who didn't look too pleased at her current state "I've seen people living with bullets inside of them. I read about it all the time! Just pour some whiskey on the wound and let it heal, 'cause it will, I know it will! Tommy, tell them, please—"

"Shut it, Dorothea!" One thing about her brothers is, they never called her full name. Not unless she was in trouble or at an important event. So hearing Tommy do it made the girl shrink back into John's chest. "Arthur, hold her. Jeremiah, go on." He ordered, making Arthur reposition himself from the wall he had been leaning on to getting his sister away from John and on that table. "Doesn't hurt, Thea, you'll
see—"

To think that stopped her from fussing, turning and twisting to get her way was just plainly dumb.

"Get off of me, old man!" She yelled as they grabbed her, arms flying everywhere, hitting anyone they could.

"...Take that arm!..."

"...Hold her!..."

"...Stop fussing, will you—"

They all seemed to give Polly enough of a headache. "Shut up! All of you!" She moved near her niece, pointing a finger in her direction "If you don't sit your ass down on that table right this second, you and I will have a lot to talk about, young lady."

Thea scrunched up her face in disgust at the word, mocking her aunt "..Young lady?" before Thomas cleared his throat "Right. Jeremiah, take that bullet out of this wild child, will you?" A hint of humor could be heard in his voice, however, Dorothea knew not to take it as a sign of relief until she got home and knew for sure he wasn't going to have her head.

"Right away, Tom."

The Shelby girl was handed a bottle of Gin from the youngest brother. It was funny, really. He was mad. She could always read Finn, but the reason why he got upset was beyond her. Just as it was with Jeremiah being in the same room as him. Could've had to do with him being a priest or something. She took some gulps, as if she didn't already have enough alcohol in her system, then gave the bottle to Polly.

In her moment of calmness, Thea allowed her family to get closer, pinning her to the cold table. Jeremiah gave her a pitiful smile as he held the utensil above her wound. She sharply inhaled, "Oh, please just go on."

But the pain was more than unbearable.

It got to the point where, even if she wanted to, she didn't know how to express it. The air leaving her lungs was enough for the whole street to hear, but it still couldn't compare to what it felt like having a bullet dug out of you.