My Hero

1

I'm shrieking like a banshee and sweating fiercely from the intensity of the sharp pain.

She rushes over, concerned, through bustling chaos after spotting me in the crowd.

"Hey! I heard you were here. Are you ohk- "

I watch her expression contort from worry to horror as she examines me in my current state: reclining on a bed with pillows behind my back, slightly bending my knees for comfort; tears and their stains streaking my face, clutching the exposed flesh around the shaft of an arrow, currently lodged in my lower-right gut.

"Ohhh shit..."

She starts into pacing back and forth and murmuring curses to herself about what we're going to do and if I'm going to be okay, etc.

Seeing the fear and panic in her eyes is absolutely terrifying to me and honestly hurts more than my physical pain. In fact, her expressions and behavior are scaring me so much, it's causing me to tear up and cry in fear and anxiety myself because she's always so calm and resilient; if she's freaking out, it's got to be bad.

Because I'm growing more anxious and tense, I start feeling more pain. Her freaking out is only making me freak out even more, so I whine through hyperventilation to get her attention.

Hearing my whimpers, she turns back to focus on me and sees that her panicking isn't solving anything or making it better.

"Aww, shit! I- I'm so sorry! ... uhhh ... hmmm," she erupts into a series of nervous hums and haws while quickly analyzing the situation: the arrow has pierced my skin in such a way that it's acting like a plug so I haven't exactly bled-out, but there are definitely signs that a good amount of fluid has managed to leak from my internal organs; some blood has dried around the arrow itself as my body had tried to repair itself with the arrow still in me.

After a short while, she then looks me right in the eyes with some form of new-found confidence, reassurance, and authority and says, "Look, I'm not gonna lie; I'm just as scared as you are right now, but trust me; we're gonna get through this together!"

Without breaking our gaze, she rests a knee on my bed--parallel between my bent legs--then sits back on her heel.

"It's going to be okay."

She then leans forward to hold my head with her thumb in front of my ear, and the rest of her hand wrapping around, almost to the nape of my neck.

"You're gonna be all right, I promise."

I am fully paralyzed in fear.

Streams of tears rush down my face, but I can't make a sound because it hurts too much to contract my diaphragm and heave normal sobs; although, I'm equally as distracted by and concentrated on her soothing words and calm expression that I'm completely unaware of reality for a few minutes.

I don't even notice when she slips her other hand down to my abdomen.

"Everything's gonna be fine. Just relax."

I reach up to her face to move a loose piece of hair out of her eyes and to confirm that this is reality because it all just feels so much like a dream; I'm so encaptured by her resilience, nothing feels real anymore. I'm absolutely desperate for a distraction--a sliver of hope--and here she is; it all just feels like a dream.

Suddenly speeding through her words so I don't have any time to process what she's saying, she counts, "On the count of three; ready? One, two..." She grunts the count of three as she tears the arrow from my body by its shaft using every ounce of strength she has, and my blood splatters all over her.

As she rips it from my body, her hand glides across my back from my head to my right shoulder blade like a hug, for leverage and support.

Immediately and brutally brought back to reality, I collapse in on myself in attempt to ease my newfound torment and agony: I curl in toward her body until my forehead reaches her sternum, crunching forward as a fierce, sharp-shooting pang overtakes my entire mid-section while I scream bloody murder into her chest and violently clutch her shoulder: I dig my fingers into her back, but the heel of my hand presses harshly into her collarbone, even though I'm pulling her deeper into my body for a sort-of hug; my freshly re-opened wound is being held by the other.

Gently, she lies me back down and shushes me supportively after it's out, so she can put down the bloody arrow and exchange it for antiseptic wipes and skin glue.

I let my body go a little limp as she lays me down, releasing my grips and allowing my arms to fall to either side of my body.

For the first time in a while, I'm not holding such tension in my body; though I know I still have a large, gaping hole in my stomach, so I'm still feeling pain, but it's more like a burning sensation--rushing blood is hot, after all.

She then turns back to me and springs into cleaning up the partially-dried blood around the wound and catching some of the fresh blood currently oozing out of said gaping hole.

I wince and yelp as she wipes it down because so much of the alcohol is penetrating my pure flesh that it stings and burns like dry ice.

"Whoops, sorry! I didn't wring that one out first," she replies to my whimpers, "Just wanna make sure it's completely sterilized; wouldn't want that getting infected, now, would we?" She teases with a facetious grin.

I would've huffed a bit of a chuckle, but my gut still hurts too much to contract, so I flashed her a devilish smirk and rolled my eyes instead.

On the brighter side, her usual banter was successfully preoccupying me from what she was doing--pinching the tender, sensitive flesh and sticking it back together with the binder glue.

Of course, that's not to say I'm grimacing whilst she does this either--hiding my pain under a concentrated smile.

Her concentration and determination while she worked could've kept me distracted for ages, though. She's always fascinated me in that way: how she has such a strong work ethic and an extraordinary sense of discipline; it's one of the main reasons I idolize her.

What I didn't see (until the very last minute, of course) was another nurse walk in with a needle and thread. We both knew it had to be done this way.

Seeing my anxious concern for what was about to happen, she promptly walks over to the opposite side of the bed, pulls up a small chair, and offers me her hand as a stress reliever; I take it with great appreciation.

"It's all gonna be okay. I'm here for you." She whispers to my face--my indication that she's going back to reciting her "spells" that cause the whole world to disappear except her and me.

In immediate mental preparation, I level my head to look straight up at the ceiling, close my eyes, and release as much of the remaining tension in my body as I can before the ultimate torment arrives.

"You can do this. I believe in you!"

The nurse begins, and I start squeezing her hand aggressively. I clench every part of my body whilst wailing and yowling. I writhe in pain, weakly resisting the urge to twist this way and that, wanting to bury my face in my pillow and scream, then come up for air, and go back to my pillow.

I knew this would only elongate the process since it takes exceptional precision and a tranquil patient in order to get this task done efficiently and effectively, but I just couldn't bring myself to it.

"You're so strong! You've got this!"

And before I know it, tears are staining my face again. I've never considered myself to be a "strong" person. I look up her because I know she's strong. So to have her tell me this was probably the most ironic kind of encouragement she could have given me; but, it meant the universe and more coming from her, too.

"Almost there! I'm so proud of you!"

Sobbing and sniffling, my vision goes blurry until... it's completely dark.