Callen's screams of agony reverberate through my very soul, making me wish I could do something to erase his pain, to make everything better. However, I know that's impossible. Therefore, pulling the bullet out and treating the wound is the best I can do for him right now.
Still, I share the torture he is undergoing in a way that no one has ever been able to understand as I experience his pain as my own. I can clearly imagine his foot as mine and how utterly excruciating my rummaging through the wound to find the bullet truly is.
It reminds me of the time I had to observe a doctor examining a patient's gangrenous leg. The smell alone was enough to cause anyone to feel sick to their stomachs. Nevertheless, the doctor wanted us to observe as he attempted to physically remove the dead tissues and stop gangrene from spreading by cutting it out.
The guy was screaming and begging for the doctor to stop. Instead of doing that, he continued with the painful process while giving us detailed explanations about the procedure.
Naturally, what he was doing was necessary, but it was something I had never wished to see. Merely looking at the process made my head spin, my legs aching to run away. Yet, it was even more than that.
I could clearly imagine the pain the person was going through. The best I can describe the feeling I get when someone is in pain is a prevailing sense of empathy that makes me feel physically ill.
This time, as sweat coats Callen's skin I feel even worse, like I was in the ninth circle of Hell. It might be because I know Callen and I care about his wellbeing.
"Is everything okay?" Jared, Callen's friend, asks as he notes me changing colors.
"Fine. I am just having trouble pulling the bullet out. I'll get it," I say with determination.
The sooner I get this over with, the better it will be for both of us. I think that we are both running out of strength. The only question is which one of us will faint sooner.
"Okay, I got it," I say, finally wrenching the bullet out.
However, Callen's screaming and sobbing don't stop there since I have to disinfect the injury. In turn, I am burning with pain as if it were my own. Furthermore, the pool of blood has been staring at me for a while, laughing at me, taunting me to take a look.
Despite all that, I manage to patch Callen up as best as I can before all my determination runs out. After that, all I am left with is an aching body and broken spirit.
"I think...I think I need to sit down," I say as I move away from the ocean of blood that seems to be increasing, trying to devour me whole.
Before I can do so, my knees become wobbly, and Jared barely manages to catch me before I hit the ground.
"It's okay. I'll take care of her," I hear the familiar voice say.
I don't even feel that I am being exchanged from one set of hands to another as everything is just one big, spinning blur. I am not even sure what's up and what's down.
"You're okay, I got you," Nathan says, cradling me in his arms.
"Nathan, how did you know to come for me?" I ask, my words feeling far away from me.
"I overheard someone say that there was a lot of blood and that they hoped Callen would be okay. Remembering how you felt about blood, I came to see if you were okay. I guess I was right on time." Nathan says.
"Yes, but at least I finished treating Callen. He should be okay." I say as I allow a small amount of pride to shine through.
"You were amazing!" Nathan says, sounding impressed.
"How would you know that?" I ask, confused.
I am not sure if the confusion is part of the whole dizzy spell I am going through or if Nathan just has a mysterious personality. However, I want to understand him better, even if this might not be the best time to do so.
"I saw how you reacted to blood out there. Clearly, you are extremely sensitive. Despite that, you spend time fixing someone who was profusely bleeding without losing it. That's beyond impressive in my books." Nathan says, lowering me down on an unfamiliar mat.
"Where are we?" I ask, although my head is still reeling.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Nathan says.
"Why didn't you take me to my tent?" I ask.
"Well, Jessica is busy, and I think you need someone to stay with you having in mind that you don't look so good," Nathan says.
"Thanks a lot. You sure know how to make a woman feel good," I manage to whisper sarcastically.
"You know what I mean. You look so pale that even the zombies wouldn't attack you thinking you were one of their own," Nathan says jokingly.
I manage a faint smile before I have to go back to taking deep breaths in an attempt to get myself under control. After all, I don't want Nathan to see me throw up again. He must already think that I am a weakling.
"I'll be fine. I just need a moment." I say.
"Can I help?" Nathan asks.
"Do you have anything sweet?" I ask.
"Sure. Here you go." Nathan says, offering one of the chocolate bars that we sometimes find in abandoned stores.
I have no idea how he got a hold of it, but I really appreciate it.
I devour it in mere seconds, behaving as if I had never seen a chocolate bar in my whole life.
"Better?" Nathan asks.
"Yeah," I say as the world starts coming back into focus.
"Ahem, you have something..." Nathan says and proceeds to wipe off chocolate from my lower lip, making me shiver in the process.
"Thanks," I say, embarrassed.
I always eat like a savage, but I regret not controlling my habits in front of him. I should be more careful in front of the first guy who has ever shown any understanding for me.
"Sure thing," he says, looking at me with an emotion I can't really distinguish.
"How about you?" I ask.
"I beg your pardon?" he asks, confused.
It's no wonder he is at a loss since I still can't connect my thoughts properly, and I am not sure if I am saying everything I want to say or just think about saying it.
"Well, you know a lot about me, maybe even more than I would've liked you to know for such a short time. What can you tell me about yourself?" I ask.
"What do you want to know?" He asks.
Although I don't remember my psychology lessons very well, I am pretty sure that answering a question with a question is not a good sign.
"Why did Jason save you?" I ask.
The shock on his face tells me that I've asked the wrong question and perhaps made Jason sound like a bad guy, which he isn't. He is just a tough guy as he has to be.
"Don't get me wrong, Jason is happy to help, but this is the first time he did so while taking an enormous risk to himself and us. That has to mean something, that you have a valuable skill. So, what is it?" I ask.
"I was in the armed forces," Nathan says as if that explains everything.
"So?" I ask.
After all, many people have some military or police training. Why would Jason risk everything for one guy when there had to be many others available?
"I was the most lethal sniper in my squad," Nathan said, lowering his eyes.
"So you are a professional killer?" I ask, suddenly feeling more aware than I was mere moments ago.
"It's not like that. I only killed the bad guys. I defended this country." Nathan says.
He doesn't look me in the eyes. I know that he understands as well as I do that sometimes it's debatable who the bad guys actually are. It's all about the point of view.
"I see," I say though I am not quite sure I want to see anything at all.
"Do you think less of me now?" He asks, hurt lacing his words.
His question makes me pause and contemplate how to answer his question, how I feel about this revelation.