A Short Story : A Story?

Decent Essays
He places the rag back in my mouth and the fire starts again. This time, I don’t scream. I bite down, groaning. It only lasts a few seconds before it stops and the cooling wet rag is pressing into my wound. It's very welcomed compared to the vodka. I spit the rag out. “You done yet?”
“Yeah. Now we just have to wait for a while. Thorn, get some more water.” His sister leaves without a word. The back of his hand presses along my forehead and cheeks. “You’re burning up and extremely pale.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s from the blood loss, you idiot,” I grumble.
“You know you’re crankier when you’re injured, makes you a might unpleasant to be around.” He cracks a small smile before it drops. “Or is…um, the pain not what’s bothering you?”
I tilt my head. “What?”
“You killed a man,” he clarifies. “Taking someone else’s life for the first time is hard, even if it’s to survive or save a friend. But uh…what I’ trying to tell you is not to feel guilty for defending yourself. I…”
“Not the first time,” I force out in a whisper.
His hand stiffens over my shoulder. "Not the first time?”
“First time with a gun. Not the first life I’ve taken.”
“Demons. A lot of demons.”
I don’t know why I answer, but I do. I tuck my hair behind my ear, suddenly finding the blood drops on the sheets very interesting. “I…um, blow up a building. Yeah, filled with demon officers. It wasn’t that hard. They’re the idiots that walk right into it. Looking back now, that reaction was a bit on the
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