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“Captain?” Captain turned his head tensely, the corner of his eye only just catching the soldier standing behind him. He was in a rush to get away, anywhere, he was so exhausted lately. Sometimes raising his arms up to wash his hair felt like too much. He only managed to disguise it behind a facade of restraint, like sickness was some form of self control. Maybe it was because he never felt in control, not of himself or anything around him. A muscle in his leg twitched incessantly, causing him to jolt uncomfortably.
He remembered this one, the soldier. He was the one who asked too many questions before actions, overthinking something as simple as stepping slightly to the left. He had messy strawberry blonde hair, Captain could always tell it was him based on the hair sticking out from under his hat. Captain held back a groan, the throb of his skull left him feeling like he was stuck in a hollow husk of a body, trying to listen to the outside word as his own words echoed like fireworks.
“Private Dashwood” He nodded, trying to make small steps forward. Captain, on reflection, hadn’t even noticed the gun in his hands, and if he had, nothing bad would’ve happened. It had been a momentary disregard for his safety that cost him a decent amount of flesh on his head.
“There’s something wrong with-“ The immature spirit, not having pointed the gun away or at the ground. Captain was doomed from the start. Suddenly there was a loud, ear shattering bang, a flash of light and he was making contact with the dirt below. It hadn’t taken much to knock him down, he could hear his superiors saying. Late twenties seems like the perfect time to retire. Theodore had felt embarrassed before anything else, before shock or fear, or pain. The pain was suppressed by adrenaline, telling him to get back up and run till his legs broke. There was something he heard about those old World War Two veterans, what was it? You could break both their ankles and they’d still walk.
Almost everyone in the world could make you feel like you were ungrateful, everyone has something you don’t, and you have something nobody’s got ahold of. Captain felt pretty damn ungrateful in the moment, so much for military modesty.
He never got used to being prodded. Captain would’ve still squirmed and complained even if they were fishing out a bullet from deep in his guts. He’d rather digest the bastard, no, god. What was happening? He couldn’t even feel the ground anymore. He felt like he was spiralling midair, with this sick sense of relief, like something had come to an end. It’s times like these where he would reassure himself by pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heart pulse underneath the skin. He was alive, he hoped. Captain was sure he was at least not completely gone yet. He was strangely aware of every touch, burning like fire into his skin, except for the part of him that was injured.
Sometimes when he was bored, he imagined being on stage, it wasn’t that different from regular life. He’s in front of everyone, his uniform suddenly tight and almost like a lie. What wouldn’t be a lie up there? Captain would sing, but nothing ever seem to come out when he pictured it. That’s how he felt, trapped in that husk.
——
Captain slipped in between consciousness, trapped in a perceived limbo he could not seemed to break through onto either side. Sometimes he felt he was quite lucid, picking up a few words the doctor was saying above him, or light chatter nearby. Other times he was floating in a blackness that one couldn’t be pulled from without the weight of the world itself. He was sinking, he supposed this was death, but then he was lucid again, and the entire possibility of dying became inconceivable once more. He kept waiting for Rachel, hoping that instead of the artificial glare of white from a doctor’s coat would be her grey suit jacket, stuffed with chocolate wrappers she never remembered to dispose of.
He was roused in the middle of the night by the shifting of his bed, but he assumed it was merely a fever dream. He blinked slowly, thinking he’d fallen asleep in intervals as he opened them sluggishly. He tried to focus, but the light in the hall outside his room felt like it was burning him down to the core. He trailed his gaze lazily over the room, only to realise there was a figure at the bottom of his bed.
Captain felt a pang of fear, thinking of the ghost stories he heard some of the older soldiers speak of, before he arrived. He blinked again, realising the figure was certainly not a spirit.
He had been visited by these kinds of visions before, when he was harmed. He’d nearly bled out once in an area where a battle occurred in World War I, and was almost convinced he saw a circle of thin, malnourished and lost dressed soldiers standing around him. It stopped scaring him after that, maybe the lost soldiers were trying to guide him. That’s why he couldn’t die.
If he wasn’t completely convinced she was yet to arrive, he would’ve assumed it was Rachel. The person was hunched over his bed, on the right side, their mouth moving gently as if whispering. He could barely make out words on their own, let alone when someone lowered its volume. Their hair was loose and longer, no, certainly not Rachel. She wouldn’t let it get so bad, she was too particular. He would be more embarrassed if it was her, how would he explain being hospitalised over a missed bullet? It had gone deep, he reminded himself. Grazed his skull. She would understand. The figure had their hands clasped in front of them, and that’s what convinced Captain it wasn’t her.
Rachel was never religious, and she most certainly wouldn’t be praying for him. But this person was, low and rapidly. Whatever they pumped into his body must’ve been wearing off, because within a matter of minutes he could actually hear parts of their prayer.
“Please help….dad, I’ve never….for anything. The least….is give….strength.” His eyebrow creased, trying to comprehend the words. Why would someone be pleading for his recovery? There were plenty of people who were far worse off than he was. Captain felt like a grain of sand compared to them, compared to her.
Rachel would’ve laughed if he ever said that, but it wouldn’t be with any humour. She’d tell him they were incomparable. Then he would look at her, light reflecting off her like a mirror, and he’d be sure she was wrong.
Just as quickly as it came, the strength depleted from his body. He hadn’t realised how tired he’d become up until that point, the weight of days and days of pressure flattened him until he felt like nothing at all. He was out before the figure even moved from the side of his bed. If he’d been up a little longer, he might’ve caught them riding from their knees, looking over in his direction, and holding his hand.
——
Life went on unpleasantly disturbed, which was quite a frequent experience in Captain’s life. He came to eventually, and the praying figure was gone, as he expected they would be. He’d been taken to an army hospital, and it seemed the nurses were more sensitive to titles there. Nobody every went beyond Captain. He almost called Rachel, or at least requested a phone, to remember who he was. It felt silly to say someone you’d know a year or so had become your humanity, but it was like they’d known each other all their lives, he couldn’t think of a single time he wished she had been a part of, just to lighten it.
She had looked at him funny one day, a mix of analysis and sympathy, and told him he reminded her of her mother. Captain supposed she had lost her humanity too.
Every day, Captain waited for her. There wasn’t anything else to wait for other than leaving, and he’d probably linger outside hoping she’d somehow drive by. This kind of ache in his chest persisted, like an illness. It was the worst in the morning, when he dragged himself slowly into waking, and his mind was allowed to wander to what gave him the most anxiety. He had to refuse breakfast, sometimes he refused lunch. Captain was so anxious for something that hadn’t killed him, couldn’t kill him and probably never would. No, he could die at any moment, he gripped his own wrist, feeling his pulse.
His head felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Captain noticed the nurses glance at one another when he spoke, or when he wrote in his journal. He figured one of them read it when he wrote about a view of the sun, because the next day he was closer to the window. He wished that could be enough. They must’ve spoken to the doctor, he wasn’t supposed to be here so long, was he? What day was it? God, what day had it been when the accident happened? Another thing to define his life by. Before and after he danced with death.
He slept most of the time, nothing interested him, except for his journal entry before his nighttime rest. His handwriting had gotten worse, he stopped writing when someone entered the room, they probably thought he was hiding his thoughts. The truth was they spilled out like an overfilled glass, splashing and drawing unwanted attention. He flinched at a door closing a little louder, knowing that was worth being embarrassed by more than the handwriting.
——
Rachel came four days into his stay. Captain was on the edge of some kind of breakdown, but he wasn’t sure if it was physical or mental. Rachel looked worn out too, but neither of them asked about the pain, they just knew. She sat on his right side, hair cut straight and short.
“Theodore,” she smiled wickedly, like they were meeting up for dinner or something. “I brought cards, wanna play?” He looked down at the old deck, the cardboard box white and folded around the corners. Worn out.
“Maybe later” He mumbled. She leaned forward, touching along the barely healed wound. It was still tender, but her touch was featherlight, it wasn’t bothersome, she was inspecting like a detective.
“Looks bloody,” she muttered, perhaps to herself. When she retracted her finger, it was coated lightly with blood “how are you holding up?” She asked. He but the inside of his cheek, trying to get a well constructed reply out with groaning about his pain medication wearing off.
“I’m alive” He responded finally. She huffed a laugh
“You’re alive.” Rachel agreed. She shifted her weight, reaching out her hand to him. He wasn’t certain of her intentions to begin with, tilting his head. Then he took her hand, clasping them together. His were sickeningly cold, hers were powerfully warm.
“To tell you the truth,” she adjusted the covers, putting them back in place “I was here a couple nights ago, but I didn’t want you to see me.”
Theodore tightened his grip on her hand, thinking of the praying figure that night.
“Oh?” He inquired, feigning ignorance, and Rachel continued.
“I only come to see you as the person I’d want everyone to see, you know? It’s stupid narcissistic ego stuff, don’t listen to me.” She furrowed her eyebrows, focusing all too much on the bedspread.
“It’s not a narcissistic ego thing,” Theodore corrected “everyone wants to look competent to someone.” He looked her right in the eye
“Well, I want to be honest with you, from now on, Theodore.”
He smiled properly the first one in so long. “An honest politician? I’ve never heard of such a thing” she clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes in fake irritation.
“Shut up and play cards with me, won’t you? Oh, hang on, I dropped a couple.”