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Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I’m too ugly to look at…
While I was still out of it enough to have all of these strange thoughts, I thankfully, was not crazy enough to actually say anything I was thinking.
Instead, I mumbled, “Is it really that bad?”
The man stopped to study my face, which I could tell was drained of all its color, but he seemed slightly amused at this.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. You still have a head…”
The man sat the First Aid kit on the table next to the bed and opened the box. He pulled out a small mirror and handed it to me.
“See? It’s just deep,” his voice seemed moderately more understanding, for only a minute before he observed me looking at myself and rolled his eyes. “Women…” he muttered.
I didn’t take offense to it though, because I was too busy looking at the changes in my face.
He was right. All and all, it wasn’t that bad, but I did have some bruising, a busted lip, and a lot of dried blood in my hair.
The crimson stains were stark against my blond hair and made me feel slightly ill.
“Thanks,” I answered, when I didn’t feel like studying myself anymore.
The man took the mirror back and replaced it in the case, before carefully starting to remove the gauze that was around my head.
“When you feel better, you can take a shower,” he offered, this time in a kinder tone. “There’s a bathroom over there, but I wouldn’t recommend it right now, considering I don’t want you to start bleeding again…or hurting your ankle any worse than it is.”
I nodded but felt slightly lightheaded as the pressure of the bandage released.
Again, I felt slightly sick. I swayed slightly, and I felt the man’s hand settle sternly on my shoulder, pausing until I was able to stabilize myself.
I swallowed hard, realizing how raw my throat felt. I winced.
“I’m going to keep going now, okay? You might feel weird, especially if it starts to bleed again, but don’t worry, I’ll pack that fucker good.”
I chuckled nervously, “Thanks.”
When he didn’t respond, but I felt him meddling with the back of my head again, I closed my eyes and focused on being anywhere but here. I thought that would help me, if I started to feel sick, but unfortunately, when I closed my eyes, I saw the crazy guide’s face, glowering at me with those eyes.
I still didn’t remember much about the man or exactly what had happened, but I remembered those eyes. They were like glaciers, piercing into my soul. They were dead, cold, and cruel.
I hoped I never encountered eyes like that again.
“Are you cold?” The man’s voice broke through the memory, as my eyes popped opened and I looked at him. “Whoa!” He called, backing away, “You realize that your head is open, right? If I fuck this up, your brains could fall out or something! Just speak. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” I answered, returning my head to the position which he had put it in so that he could patch up my gash. “How does it look?”
“It looks…like you got your head bashed in with a rock,” he answered in a deadpan, slightly aggravated tone.
“Is it still bleeding?”
“No,” he replied in a gruff tone, “But honestly, it would look better if it was. I think I see your skull.”
“Ewww…” I answered, instantly feeling the color that had managed to return to my face drain out of it again.
“Nope, just gauze…” He replied, and I felt him pick something out of the back of my head, weaving it through my hair.
It didn’t matter. The damage was already done. I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Please don’t throw up,” he answered, “I wish I had some anesthetic…”
