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“No!”
Of course not!
He is breathing heavily and supporting himself seems to cost him all his strength. He stays in this position for a while, then braces himself on his hands and forcefully pushes himself into a sitting position. Sweat runs down his face. His hair is damp.
“It’s fine, Lou, don’t blame yourself,” he chokes out in agony. I don’t say anything, but my guilt is plaguing me. Bren only meant well by worrying about my future.
I watch in silence as he struggles with the pain. Where are you hurt? It’s nothing!
“I know you don’t like to show weakness, but even Stevie Wonder would see that you’re not doing good,” I finally say.
“Is he still alive?” Bren asks, coughing a few times and doubling over in pain.
I struggle not to start crying again. “I don’t know,” I say when he’s sitting upright again. “I don’t care right now, either! Bren! Don’t lie to me, I can’t handle that.”
He looks at me, and for a moment, I’m scared because he doesn’t seem to see me and acts as if he’d dozed off sitting up, but then finally he says, “My head hurts and I think I’ve broken a few ribs…but that’s not…”
“Then what is?”
“We have to make a fire… I’ve got a lighter in my pocket.”
Holy cow! That’s good news! “I’ll make the fire.”
“I’ll help you.”
“So, what else is wrong?”
“It’s not so important…”
“Bren!”
“The cut on my hand hurts a bit, but I’m sure it’ll pass.” Bren tries to rise, and without him asking, I support him since it’s no use trying to stop him anyway. He growls indignantly but doesn’t reject me. Finally, he’s standing up, shaking like an alcoholic in withdrawal.
“You can’t help me; you can’t even stand by yourself!” He must be in a great deal of pain. A huge lump sticks in my throat.
He takes a few hesitant steps, struggling against my grip. “I can do it, Lou! You don’t have to hold me up like an old man.”
I let go of him and he stumbles, so I grab him again. This time, he puts up with my help without any protest. He’s too weak and badly injured. He’s also incredibly hot, which I just noticed. “You’re glowing!” I sound more startled than intended.
Bren feebly waves it off. “Never mind, a little fever won’t kill me.”
He knows he has a fever? Maybe he’s been feeling sick for a while. I noticed he looked awful earlier on the train.
He nods to a tree trunk on the ground that can be used as a bench. “There! We can make a fire there.”
“You’re not going to do anything but rest!” I say in the commanding tone he usually claims as his own. I help him sit and can feel how taxing it is for him. He takes a deep inhale and curses under his breath.
“May I take a look at you?”
Bren shakes his head with clenched teeth. “It’s only broken ribs, no need to panic.”
“Our neighbor, old Mr. Johnson, broke a couple of his ribs once and they almost punctured his lungs! He even had to go to the hospital because he had trouble breathing.” I try to stay calm, but it’s difficult.
“I’ve often had my ribs broken during fights, I know how it feels when bone fragments get stuck in your pleura or lungs, believe me.”
I picture Bren continuing to fight even with his ribs fractured and can’t help but shake my head.
“Adrenaline helps with the pain,” he says as if he has to explain.
