Page 39 of The Garnet Daughter
“It’s infected. If I’m not feverish, I will be soon.”
He guides me to a seat wordlessly and begins rummaging through a locker in the smooth walls of the hull. It illuminates in a cold blueish light, boxes with Viathan symbols neatly stacked.
“After all the injuries we had on Frith, I made sure to stock up on a wider selection of medicines and anything else I could think of. Not quite a Viathan med bay, but this will get us started.” He fills his arms with the metal boxes, balancing the stack as he folds down a high metal table from the wall to spread them out on.
“I need a salve for the pain. What do you have for infections?” I clarify because he looks overwhelmed.
He turns the packages over and mumbles to himself, then rips into a long, slender one. “Alright, this is for infections. I also have a cream for burns somewhere.”
“Good.” I look to him expectantly, wondering the reason for his sudden hesitation.
“It’s an injection. I’ve had one before, helps with pain too.” His eyes flick down to my wound.
“Injection?”
“It’s a hollow needle, sends medication under your skin.” He smiles flatly.
The long cylinder is massive, the width of a healthy twig, one not able to snap easily for a fire. I don’t know what I expected. Of course the Viathan meds would not be herbs and teas like the ones I am used to. They are packaged in strange boxes and invasive in their delivery, but I am past the point of relying on my body to fight to heal this wound.
“Does it hurt?“ I stand to get a better view.
“Well, the needle is small, but it bruises the surrounding muscle.” He shifts on his feet nervously. “The injection sight is the butt . . . ocks.”
I huff but his face is serious, if not a little uneasy. “You will have to explain it better so I can do this myself.”
“Right. So this goes against bare skin, the muscle.” He pats his own backside and then demonstrates with the tube. “Push into the . . . tissue with this side and then press on this button with your thumb.”
“I’m to inject this into my ass when I have a wound on my arm?” I ask flatly.
“Yes.” His smile is shy and won’t meet my eyeline as he hands me the heavy injection cylinder, then turns to face the wall. “I don’t know exactly how it works, but it does.”
I lean on the supply table and pull down the hem on my pants.
“On a . . . soft spot,” he says to the wall, shuffling on his feet. “Hold the button for ten counts.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the hard end of the medicine against my skin, and my heart instantly starts pumping faster. Anticipating more pain, one I am not familiar with, is too much, and suddenly I don’t care who administers the injection as long as it’s not me.
“I can’t.” I hold it up to him, tapping it on the back of his arm. “Can you?”
“Of course.” He turns so slowly, his movements stiff as he takes it from my hand. “But just so you’re aware, I will have to see what I’m doing.”
“Do it, August!”
I catch his sly smile before I turn away and internally groan.
“This needs to come down more.” His fingertips brush across my already low waistband. “You had it too close to your hip bone.”
I nod and close my eyes.
“Perfect,” he mumbles to himself as he pulls down my pants just a little more, holding the edge, a strange attempt at politeness.
“What?”
“Nothing. Ready?” His voice is lower, like he is on his knees behind me.
I want this to be over with. “Yes!”
“One. Two. Thr . . .” He stops to adjust his aim against my skin.
