He nods.
I use all my strength and tear out the knife. His body convulses—involuntarily I’m assuming—and he grips the side of the table to steady himself. Blood gushes out and soaks his entire side down to the table where his hand is braced.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing he took this injury so I didn’t have to. My stomach twists as I pour the disinfectant over the gash. His muscles flex, encouraging another wave of blood before I gather the handful of gauze on the tray and press it down as hard as I can.
I wish there was more I could do for him, but I’m not trained in medical procedures. All I know are quick fixes. He’s lucky this was far enough to the side that it avoided all major organs and only went through muscle.
“Will they check our wounds professionally after the trials?” I ask, removing the blood-soaked gauze and pressing another thick bundle of it to the wound.
“Yeah, they give us a few weeks to recover too. You’d be surprised at how different things are on the other side.”
His breaths are uneven, proving that his body is responding correctly to the pain, but his mind is disconnected from it. I have to admit, it’s a clever study. Medication that can do thiscould potentially create an unbeatable army. The soldiers’ minds would be harder to break, that’s for certain—especially in torture situations. But that’s only if they can stop the pills from killing their soldiers.
What would something like this do if it got out into the world? I’m sullen at the thought.
Cameron lets his head drop to steady his breathing. I smooth a hand over the back of his neck to check if he’s clammy from the blood loss. He recoils at my touch and stiffens.
“Sorry, I was just?—”
“No. It was…nice.” He sounds tired.
I remove the gauze and am relieved to see that the bleeding has slowed. It’s impossible to tell if there’s irrevocable interior damage since he can’t feel it. I finish patching him up to the best of my ability and place a waterproof bandage over the gauze so he can shower. God knows we both could use one. I’m hoping since we were in the infirmary for so long that the showers will be vacant by now. It has to be pushing past two a.m. already.
“All done,” I say, shifting off the table and walking to his front. He lifts his head and wipes his sleeve under his nose. Maroonish-black liquid smears there. It’s even darker than it was before.
The worry on my face must be obvious. Cameron offers a small grin. “I’m fine. It’ll take a lot more than being stabbed to kill me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking back to my sliced ear. It’s such a small injury compared to his. I don’t know why he keeps looking at it like it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen.
A few sutures and it’ll be fine until we can get out of here.
I rinse my hands in the sink, staring down at the red-stained skin and nails.
“You’re always fine, Cameron,” I whisper somberly, and it breaks my heart that he believes it.
I almost melt into a puddle of happiness when warm water comes out of the showerhead. It’s been weeks since I’ve known what a hot shower feels like. It’s a luxury I wasn’t expecting after the cruelties of the Under.
A breath escapes my lips as I rinse the dirt and blood from my skin. Dirty water coils into the drains as I scrub every inch of my body from head to toe. It’s quiet for the most part, only soft weeping and the sound of water splashing against the tiles from the few others that are still in here.
Most of the cadets are already in their beds, tucked away and snoring, sleeping off pain meds and preparing for the next trial that starts tomorrow at sundown.
The only thing I want right now is a hot meal and sleep.
I finish my shower and walk across the room to the benches to gather my fresh set of clothes. The clothing and uniforms from the first trial were collected in a bin and are currently burning outside.
Cameron sits on the wooden bench, leaning his back against the wall. His eyes flick to mine.
“You should be sleeping,” I whisper. He finished rinsing off ten minutes ago, so why didn’t he just go to our cot? Well, I suppose there are enough beds now so we don’t exactly need to share one anymore, but I’m secretly hoping that we still will.
He doesn’t respond. Cameron just closes his eyes and rests his head back. I swallow the knot in my throat and ignore his presence as I braid my hair and brush my teeth. I refuse to look at myself in the full wall mirror at the end of the bathroom. I don’t want to know how badly I’m bruised and injured.
Fingertips glide down the side of my neck, startling me and pulling my gaze up from the sink. Cameron tucks a stray strand of hair into one of the loops in my braid.
“Pink suits you. Have I told you that?” he murmurs as his eyes trace my features.
I take a deep breath. I’m weak to his gravity, this close, we’re sure to collide. I notice his arm hanging limply on his wounded side. Worry trickles through me. “Cameron…your arm.”
He forces a tight smile. “Nothing we can do about it right now, love. It will probably be better in the morning, so let’s get some sleep while we can.”
I try not to let the invading thoughts of his wounded shoulder cloud my mind as I follow him to the cots. We share an uncertain look, then he nods his head for me to come to his bed. I do, quickly and with little thought, wanting to be close to him. I curl up shamelessly into his chest. His warmth spreads through me, enticing me to shut my eyes.
