Commodity

“I don’t suggest watching.”

I look away, trying to find the latch on the footlocker again. It would probably be better if I could close my eyes, but I need to see that it’s Eckhart—my bodyguard—not Hudson and his cronies.

“Fuck!” I can’t help it. My whole body jumps as I feel a sharp jab deep inside the wound. Eckhart’s hand stays firmly on my leg, but he doesn’t grasp it tightly and doesn’t push down. I try not to scream as he keeps going.

“I got it out.”

“Is that all there is?” My voice cracks as I speak.

“I think so.”

> I grab the blanket on the bed as I feel his hand on my ankle again.

“I can still get you that bullet.” His voice remains quiet and calm even though I know he’s got a needle and thread poised over my flesh.

I shake my head quickly, not completely sure if he’s trying to make a joke or not.

“This is going to sting.”

I feel cold liquid running over my skin, and I hiss as the alcohol makes its way into the wound. The whiskey has dulled the sensation a little but not nearly enough.

“You got this,” Eckhart says. “I’ve seen guys in combat freak out more than you have. You’re doing great.”

I know the exact moment the needle punctures my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, forgetting all about the spot I was going to focus on. I try to find that happy meadow in my head, but all the dandelions are dead, their seeds cast to the wind, and the sky is dark and foreboding.

Instead, I focus on my breathing. In, out. In, out. Another stab. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Another. This one feels deeper, and I hold my breath as I tense.

“Relax.” Eckhart’s soft words flow into my ears. “Halfway there.”

“Only…half?” I can barely get the words out.

I can feel my skin being pulled and tightened with each stitch. I can’t look down to see what he’s doing. If I do, I know I’ll throw up or pass out or worse.

“Almost there.”

I swallow hard, focus on my breathing, and try to keep the tears at bay.

“One more.”

“Just get it done!” I hiss through my teeth as the final stab and pull makes my head swim.

“Got it!” Eckhart leans back a little. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grab something on the bed beside me. “Just need to finish cleaning it up and getting it covered.”

I stay motionless as he opens a tube of antibiotic cream and applies a generous amount to the wound. Finally, he covers it up with gauze and tapes the bandage around the rest of my leg.

I’m still dizzy when I sit up. The white gauze looks strange wrapped around my leg, but I’m glad I can’t see the actual cut any longer.

“Can I walk on it?”

“Try not to do much,” Eckhart says, “but you should be all right to move a bit.”

It does feel better when I stand, and I can walk on it more easily even though I’m limping. He puts all the medical supplies back in the footlocker and shuts it. I follow him into the living room, my head full of questions.

“So, what—you’ve been…been planning for this?” I wave a hand back in the direction of his bedroom.

“It’s always good to be prepared.”

“And now what?”