Needle and Thread

                                    

                                          
Word Count: 4.8k
My eyes shot open as a strangled gasp for air filled my chest, a sputtering exhale took place afterwards and for a few moments that's all I did. My gaze darted all around as I instantly clutched my side, fresh blood leaking into the crevices of my hand. "Don't touch it," Soap quickly stated next to me, his fingers interlocking around my palm as he removed my vice grip. A pained wheeze fell from my lips, all I could do was nod my head to convey I understood. Soap sighed softly, his face contorted in worry the longer he looked at me. "Found an adrenaline shot in your pouch," he muttered, pointing down to my vest. 
My skin started to become slick with sweat, my head spinning. The deep, jagged wound in my side, inflicted by the brutality of Graves and his men, quickly became a conduit for my life's essence to slip away, I knew that, and Soap knew that. My heartbeat echoed in my ears as if through a distant tunnel, a rhythmic reminder of my consciousness draining away. "C'mon, we've got to move quickly," Soap mumbled as he stood from his crouching position, looking down at me with a pained expression, probably mimicking the same one on my face. The only difference was there was emotional distress in his, and physical in mine. 
My hand gripped the soggy bark of the tree behind me, using it for support as I lifted myself off the ground. The world seemed to blur at the edges, colors fading into a muted palette, as if I was trapped in a hazy limbo. Swallowing thickly, I managed to remain upright, my body only slightly swaying back and forth. Each strained breath I took felt like a laborious effort, the ground beneath my bloodied boots seemed unsteady, a testament to my own body's betrayal. Soap quickly wrapped his hand around my side, making sure not to touch my wound, as he helped me limp along toward the town. My arm snaked around his shoulder as we progressed throughout the woods, my resolve deteriorating more and more with each passing moment. 
"You shouldn't have done that," Soap whispered so softly next to me I almost didn't hear it. My mouth was too dry for me to respond, my throat feeling as if I swallowed a pound of gravel. My feet stuttered underneath me, my body almost toppling to the ground, only remaining upright due to Soap's iron lock around my side. The taste of metallic iron filled my mouth, my stomach beginning to churn as it did so. My eyes lazily looked in Soap's direction as I forced the lump of words out of my throat, "I don't... regret it..." I wheezed, shaking my head before looking forward again. Soap tensed next to me, looking away from my body. I could've sworn I heard him sniffle, but I couldn't trust any part of my body anymore. Not with the blood loss. 
It's a weird thing grappling with your own mortality, to come face to face with death itself, having the grim reaper knocking at your door. How I went from feeling absolutely invincible to leaking endless blood, watching my life slip from between my bloodied fingertips, brought tears to my eyes. Soap tried comforting me the further we walked, telling me I'd be okay, that I was fine, that'd it all be alright, attempting to soothe my frazzled nerves, but both him and I knew better. We knew better. I was scared, so fucking scared. Being so helpless, being practically alone with nobody to save me, to know my physical self was coming to its bitter end, it was horrifying. Dying was never something I really thought about, but now? It was the only thing running rampant through my mind. 
Eventually the town came into view, the sounds of screaming woman and children made my sweaty, pale skin crawl. Pools of blood filled the streets, the smell of death pungent in the air. My eyes caught glimpse of Shadows screaming at civilians, guns pointed in their faces before murdering them underneath the downpour of rain. My feet slipped in slick, bloody puddle, Soap's holding on me faltering just enough that I fell to the ground, my palms getting cut up on the cobblestone street. A pained wince fell from my lips, my eyes beginning to water. "C'mon, it's okay, you're okay," Soap whispered to me, latching his arms underneath my armpits before dragging me behind a truck, splatters of blood decorating its exterior.