Bring It On! - Chapter 7

Chapter 7. 

“Aaaaargh!”

The man’s thigh twitched upward. The blanket I shoved into his hands instead of a doll was now being brutally mangled under the pressure of his tendons.

“I haven’t even applied the ointment yet.”

Anyone who didn’t know better would think I was stitching his skin without anesthesia. I had only just twisted the cap off the ointment. My fingers hadn’t even gotten near his wound.

Yet here he was, sweating bullets and freaking out like crazy. Whether from the heat or nerves, I wasn’t sure.

Reading the obvious judgment in my gaze, he snapped.

“Do your hands have to touch my sides? Just the thought of it is enough to tickle or hurt!”

“Oh god, that nonsense again. So you don’t want the ointment?”

“…”

“If that wound festers with bacteria, at minimum you’ll get necrosis. Worst case, we’ll have to amputate your leg. Still don’t want the ointment?”

His eyes shook. Slowly, he let go of the blanket he’d been gripping like a lifeline.

“…Do you have to say it so scarily?”

“Doctors are supposed to tell patients the worst-case scenario.”

“You’re not even a real doctor.”

“Stop making a fuss and just sit still this time, please.”

I grabbed his knee and quickly spread his legs.

“Agh!” 

He let out a little scream, but apparently the fear of losing his leg overrode his urge to resist like before. I leaned in between his legs and carefully squeezed out the ointment.

“If you’re scared, just close your eyes.”

“And let you do whatever while I’m blind? Who knows what you’ll do?”

“What could I possibly do?”

“You might spit on it or something gross.”

“Wanna see me actually do it?”

“Don’t you dare pull some crazy stunt.”

Crazy stunts. He was the one doing them.

I ignored him and focused on the wound.

Thin scratches lined the inside of his thigh, mixed with dried salt, grains of sand, and dust. It was a mess.

“We’ll have to wash it first. Can you move?”

“How do you think I got here in the first place?”

“Probably whining and crying the whole way. Get up.”

I was worried for nothing. I tapped his knee and stood first.

He flinched, then darted his eyes toward me like he was checking if I saw him panic. What is he, a toddler? I was too tired to respond to every single reaction, so I just ignored him and walked outside.

“Feels nice and cool out here.”

He rolled his shoulders and stretched big.

“Sit down and spread your legs.”

“That sounds… a bit wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Your brain must be rotting.”

“‘Rotting’?”

Oh for crying out loud. Is he a kid or what?

I didn’t bother hiding the look of disgust that flicked across my face.

He laughed to himself like he found it funny but shut up when he saw my cold glare and sat obediently in the chair.

I sent Suho to get some clean water.

The playfulness in the man’s eyes had now turned into nervous tension.

A guy built like he could wrestle a tiger was freaking out over one wound. It was pathetic and a little funny.

“Want me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t treat me like a dumbass.”

“Fine, your loss.”

“Actually, give me your hand.”

Even now, he couldn’t stop acting cocky.

“Say ‘please.’”

I said it like I was teaching a child.

One of his eyebrows twitched unpleasantly.

“What?”

“When you ask for something, you say ‘please.’ Got it?”

“…”

“Guess you don’t really need it then?”

“…”

“Alright then.”

“Ah, fuck—please!”

His face contorted like his pride had just been stomped on. Startled, Suho jumped and clung to my back with the cup of water in his hands.

“That’s not how you say please,”

Suho added quietly, offering a tip. The man actually heard him and glared daggers at the kid.

“Mind your business, kid.”

“Not sure who the real kid is here.”

I held out my palm. A big hand immediately grabbed mine.

Dude had zero regard for personal space.

His firm skin and warm body heat completely enveloped my hand. But even though he got what he wanted, his expression was… odd.

His handsome brows furrowed.

“…Hey, what’s with your hand…”

A round thumb slowly brushed up the center of my palm. It didn’t stop there. He pressed each of my fingers gently, then gripped them firmly one by one.

“This isn’t some kind of sensory play toy, you know.”

“No, seriously, how did you manage to swing an axe with this hand? It’s so soft… ugh, it’s weird.”

“You little—”

I’d only offered him my hand out of pity because he was so tense. As I tried to pull it back, he hurriedly clutched it tighter.

“I didn’t mean I didn’t like it. It just feels… damn it, I don’t know.”

“Whatever. Just shut up. You can yell or cry if it hurts, but don’t move.”

“Pfft, like I’d cry over something like th—AAAAAGH!”

As soon as I began pouring a light stream of water over the wound, he clutched my hand like he was going to crush it. Still, maybe because he remembered I said not to move, he kept his lower body frozen while flailing the upper half like a madman.

“You can’t just pour it all of a sudden! Give me time to mentally prepare!”

“Left leg next. One, two, three—”

“AAAAAAAGH!”

Even with a countdown, his reaction didn’t improve at all. He was screaming so loudly that, for the first time, I felt grateful we were on a deserted island with no one else around. No way I wanted to be associated with this guy and get weird looks.

“Haah, haah… Is it over?”

“Now for the ointment.”

The skin around his eyes was pink. Over the pure white of his sclera, a thin film of moisture shimmered. 

…Did it hurt that much?

Seeing his face trembling like he might burst into tears at the slightest nudge made my heart weaken instantly. Truthfully, the wound was quite large. The salt must have made it sting even more. Maybe I’d been too reckless, pouring water over it like that.

“Did it hurt a lot?”

“No.”

…He said, while sniffling. I bent down and blew warm air gently over his thigh. Immediately, his thigh jerked up. If I hadn’t quickly lifted my face, my nose would’ve smashed into his knee.

His leg had stayed still while I was pouring water. Why the sudden spasms now? It had to be intentional. Repaying kindness with this nonsense. Just as I was about to say something…

“…”

The man’s face was bright red, like it was on fire. The palm still gripping my hand like a lifeline was burning hot, like a hunk of metal. Then, at last, a single tear rolled from his wide eyes and down his cheek.

“…Sorry.”

I forgot I was mad and apologized reflexively.

“I was yawning.”

“Oh, is that so? Suho, can you squeeze some ointment onto my hand?”

An awkward, weird tension passed between us. I wanted to swipe the sweat off the back of my neck, but with both hands occupied, I had no choice but to endure as the sweat trickled all the way down my back.

I gently tapped the wounded area with my fingertips and applied the ointment. From above, he groaned softly.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now. It’s done.”

He had kept his eyes tightly shut, but now he cracked one open.

“Now let go of my hand.”

As I moved the hand he was holding, he quickly released both of his. He’d been gripping so hard, my fingertips had turned purple. Damn, that tingles.

Shaking out my hand, I stood up.

“So what do I do now?”

Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said he’d work hard and be useful.

“There’s plenty to do. First…”

Growwllll—

I glanced down at his stomach.

“First, let’s eat breakfast.”

***

“Didn’t you say you hate fishy stuff?”

In front of him was a neatly picked-clean fish skeleton.

Though he never once relaxed his frown during the meal, in the end he polished off the entire bowl.

“Yeah. I hate it because it tastes fishy.”

“Your actions don’t match your words.”

“I’m eating to survive. That’s all.”

Still, no matter how I looked at it, the amount seemed way too little for him. One fish was enough for Suho and me, but judging by his size, he could easily eat ten more. I gave him the boiled oysters I’d planned to eat for lunch. He devoured them without even pretending to decline.

“So fishy.”

“Fishy, my ass. Looks like we’ll have to gather at least double the food from now on.”

“…”

“All done eating? Then follow me.”

I had to teach this totally useless man how to share the chores of island life. Step one was dishwashing.

Without protest, he picked up the spoons and pot and followed me into the woods.

“Wash it here in the stream. There’s no dish soap or anything, so don’t even start.”

“Do we have rubber gloves?”

“…”

“Just kidding. Relax.”

I watched from behind as he clumsily scrubbed the pot. Then it happened.

Crack!

A bad sound snapped at my nerves. I rushed to his side.

He was holding the pot that was broken clean in half.

“What’s wrong with this thing?”