If stares could kill
He knew something was wrong from the first moment he came into the room. She had been trembling for no reason; seemingly unable to focus on what he said or did. He'd wondered what was going on but decided to brush it aside.
Big mistake.
"Watch it, asshole!" She hissed as the side of his hand slightly touched the bullet wound.
"I didn't do anything."
"You've done plenty, you jerk." Tell me something new, he thought. The amount of times she had insulted him by now had practically made him invulnerable.
"I'm sorry." He exhaled and kept on bandaging her leg. She was still looking at him. God, if stares could kill… "You're in a really bad mood today."
"My leg hurts like hell, I can't walk and I'm stuck in this shit-hole with you when I should be dead!" Her voice broke violently and she hid her face in her hands. Morgan's hands stopped and his eyes moved up towards her, wide like plates. He held his breath as he saw her sobbing so hard her entire body shook. Her breathing started to hitch, as if she was choking. It was a panic attack.
He'd had them too back in his worst days. One minute everything was fine and then the next the entire world became a blur and he couldn't breathe anymore.
"Carol… look at me." He moved, slowly, making sure she could see where his hands were going, and grabbed her shoulders. "You can get through this. Breathe." She started to hyperventilate and in her fearful expression something turned violent. Her hands clawed onto his forearms and she threw herself against him. Morgan's head hit the wood of the floor violently. He grabbed Carol's shoulders tighter and tried to push her off him, but she was using her entire body to overpower him and he didn't want to hurt her. As she thrust her head forward he ducked and screamed when her teeth dug into his collarbone so hard he was sure she ripped a chunk of it.
He pushed her face away from him and immobilized her against the floor. Her teeth were filled with blood and he felt it himself as it started to spread down his shoulder. One of her hands reached his face, scratching his left cheek. He held it high over her head, watching her growl and scream underneath him. He should've handled the situation differently, but she would just hurt herself if she kept on moving. Her wounds were still fresh and if they opened she could lose a lot of blood. So he held her down while she wriggled violently in his grasp, her feet kicking, her upper body rising and falling in an effort to push him off her.
Finally, she got tired. Her head fell against the wood, her breathing normalizing, crying in silence.
His hands loosened around her wrists and he pulled himself off her. He caught a reflection of himself in the mirror as he got up. His sleeves were torn with scratches and his cheek was bleeding. His shirt was red with blood on the upper left corner, very close to his throat. She had failed to reach her objective. He knew she had aimed towards his jugular.
Had she been successful, he'd be choking in his own blood.
"What the fuck is happening to me?" He heard her whimper. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to ignore the pain coursing through his shoulder.
"PTSD."
He crouched on the floor, taking her in his arms. There was no fight left in her; her eyes were looking at nothing. She wasn't here anymore. As he pulled her weight from the ground the pain coursed through his left arm like fire. He walked her to the bed, laid her down and went back to patch her up. He cleaned the blood from the corners of her mouth, and the sweat of her forehead, and the tears in her cheeks.
When she closed her eyes and fell asleep, exhausted by what just had happened to her, he got up from the bed, walked to his own room, took off his shirt and started bandaging his own shoulder.
Two hours later, when he walked into her room bringing her food, he found her huddled in a fetal position. She looked up towards him.
"I'm sorry." Morgan swallowed hard. He walked towards the night-table, set the plate on it, and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I should've reacted better. Won't happen again, ok?" She shook her head violently and pursed her lips. He sighed and put an arm around her shoulders. "Shhh… no need to cry. Nothing happened. It's all good."
She moved towards him and he jumped in alert, but as she nestled her head against his chest his fight-reflexes went mute. He held her close and she snuggled against him.
Two or three hours must've passed that way; in total stillness.