Bitε thε Bullεt (A Soldier's l♡ve story)

Bite the Bullet Chp9

Warning: Everything in this story is my imagination. And I am sorry for the grammatical mistakes, that's because English is not my first language.

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A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself. 

I growled and shot a deadly, blood-curdling glare at Fiona who was being mulish as hell. With a firm shake of my head, I made to stand up, but Fiona rested her gloved hands on my shoulders and pushed me back on one of the medic tent's beds instead.

"Blade, you have to allow me to look at this, your wound can get infected," Fiona hissed in a distressed tone. I rolled my eyes at her again and endeavored to stand up. She placed her hands on my chest and shoved my body back harshly.

I was in my flighty, bloody combat suit. My shirt was torn and it stunk of sweat and dry blood. I had my rifle propped securely against the table next to the tiny bed as my shoulder was unable to handle its weight.

"Troy we have to hold him." I frowned at her. "I have to get the bullet out of his arm or else he won't be able to use his hand," Fiona ordered Troy, completely disregarding me. Troy stood there with a grim look, he mourned over Mason's death.

"Fiona let it be, it's a reminder of what happened, " I said stiffly. She glared at me then seized my wounded hand.

I hissed and snarled in pain.

"Blade be realistic, this is ridiculous," she argued desperately, her eyes turning dark as anger simmered further in her blood.

Reluctant I permitted the doctor to clean the blood and put some bandages around my wound. After I was done with the vexatious meeting with Colonel I was sent here. The wound was still bleeding and Fion's hawk-like eyes had seen it and demanded an explanation. I informed her I wanted the bullet to be in my arm just to remind me of the day Mason died.

"I have to go," I rose to my feet for the third time; this time Troy pushed me back.

"Colonel won't like this shit," he narrowed his incensed eyes at me almost daring me. He twisted his head towards our doctor. "Get the damn bullet out Fiona," he spat in his that voice that held authority and would work on anyone else but not on me

A growl broke in my throat, and with a clench of my jaw, I opened my mouth, about to fling a merciless comment at Troy. However, my eyes widened when I saw who stood behind Fiona. She wore a loose cotton tee shirt and loose pants, with a tray of medical supplies in her hands. She stared at me with petrified, wide eyes.

My breath hitched when a pair of alluring green eyes met mine. "You have to allow them to take the bullet out and y-you need to calm down," spoke the most melodic voice I had ever heard.  I gaped at her like a doltish soul.

She could talk?

I looked at Fiona with a deranged look and demanded, "She can talk?" Fiona rolled her eyes.

"Of course, she can, now will you please let me look at that," she replied, pointing at the bandages around the wound on my right hand. I simply gave a short nod, the girl with green eyes handed Fiona some cleaning medicine and new bandages.

"She works here?" Troy interrogated, disquiet and amazement observable on his face.

"Yes, her father used to be a doctor," Fiona jabbed a damn cream on my wound, water stung my eyes. "So she has ideas on how to aid patients, and she is brilliant in helping me and other doctors. Today is her second day here," Fiona explained, as she wiped dried blood from my skin