"Stranded"
Part III:
Take Away My Pain (my apologies to Dream Theater)
By mickchick
Micky woke with a start and struggled to focus in the faint, early morning haze. Davy wasn’t standing next to him at all. He was still sleeping a few yards away with his head against Peter’s leg, but his words seemed to linger, suspended in the thick, humid air above him. Was it possible that Davy really knew? Or was it only that Micky was so very tired of hiding, especially after last night?
His injured arm throbbed with pain and he shifted uncomfortably on the hard ground, turning his body toward the figure that lay close beside him. Mike looked pale … too pale …and the fear that had tormented Micky through the sleepless night took hold of him once again, threatening something far worse than death. What had seemed so horrifying in the dark of last night was nothing compared to this.
“Mike,” he whispered, lightly nudging him, being careful not to wake the others.
Mike’s eyes opened just enough to see that it was Micky who leaned over him, and he smiled ever so slightly and let his eyelids drop again.
“C’mon, Mike, lemme see.”
Micky reached down and gently moved the blood-soaked shirt that covered his friend’s injured shoulder. A wave of nausea washed over him instantly and he put his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of his gag. Mike’s smooth, white skin was torn in two long, jagged gashes that ended on his chest, and some of his exposed muscle was still visible through the dirt and dried blood that covered him. Mike opened his eyes again and looked up at Micky.
“How bad is it, Mick?”
Micky forced a small smile to his lips and tried to keep his voice calm. “It’s pretty dirty, man. I’m gonna get some water and wash it off.”
Mike tried to sit up, but Micky placed a firm hand on his chest to stop him. “No. You wait here, Mike. I’ll be right back.”
For the first time since they’d come here, Mike was content to let Micky take control. His shoulder hurt more than he cared to admit even to himself, and he knew that nothing short of a miracle had saved their lives last night. He opened his eyes wide and stared up at the endless green above his head. He couldn’t imagine where his strength had come from; the only thing he could remember was the driving, desperate need to protect Micky, even if it meant giving up his own life. Nothing, no one, had ever made him feel that way before.
Micky moved swiftly and silently through the woods toward the stream that they’d all been following the past few days. Tears were stinging at his tired eyes and he struggled to hold them back. It was his fault Mike was injured! Dropping to his knees, he bent forward and peered at his reflection in the clear water. Nothing had changed. The pretty face surrounded by thick, dark curls stared back at him, the same as always. How he loathed it.
“You worthless puke,” he hissed in disgust, forcing a handful of dirt and pebbles over his image.
How could he call himself a man? How, after he’d stood back, paralyzed by fear, and let Mike save his pretty little ass – again? Oh god, if only the bear had just killed him and left Mike alone. What if Mike really wasn’t okay? What if Mike……?
Overwhelmed by the demons that taunted him, Micky covered his face with his hands and began to cry – deep, shuddering sobs that made his slender body tremble with their force. Deep in the cloud of despair that surrounded him, he felt a warm, gentle hand in his hair.
Mike sank heavily to his knees and slumped just a bit against Micky. His breathing seemed ragged, and Micky turned to look at him with fearful eyes. It had been a struggle for Mike to get up and make his way to the stream, but it wasn’t the effort that had caused that tight, strangled sound. Through the blur of his own tears, Micky could see that Mike had saved some of his own to share. He reached up to brush a strand of raven hair from Mike’s tortured face with delicate fingers and felt Mike grab his hand hard in his own and press his lips against the palm. His warm tears flowed freely over Micky’s hand and bore down on his heart.
“Don’t leave me, Mick. Please.” Mike’s voice was barely audible. “I need you.”
Micky wrapped his arms tightly around Mike and pulled him close, burying his face in the warmth of Mike’s neck, safe behind the thick, dark curtain of Mike’s hair. He couldn’t imagine what Mike could possibly need from such a pathetic wimp as him, but right now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except that Mike loved him, and oh, how he loved Mike back! He turned his head ever so slightly to the warm lips that he knew were waiting for his own.
On to Part IV
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