Chapter 127: Is it worth?

Translator: Lionwwang  Editor: Lionwwang

Don’t know when, I just feel a burst of sharp pain coming, as if all the muscles of my body are torn and pulled. Open my eyes, just about to struggle, I hear the fat fellow’s voice: “Don’t move!”

I find myself lying on a small bed with white sheets in a dark room. There’s the smell of blood in the air, and there’s a curtain hanging beside.

Fat fellow is standing at the end of my bed, squinting at me. Sees me wake up, he is laughing and saying: “How are you feeling?”

I’m shivering my lips, exhausting all my strength to say a word.

“Pain!”

“Pain is good!” He is sighing, then shouting loudly, “Doc, just come hurry up! Otherwise this kid is about to die!”

The curtain is lifted, a bald man, about forty years old, with a cross flesh and rolled sleeves. He is wearing a white coat with some dirties, do not know what the stains are. The muscles of his arms are strong, and a face of savagery.

“Which blood type are you?” The bald fierce man is looking at me and asking.

“Type A.” I’m gritting my teeth to say.

He is nodding and going to outside. I look out of the half-open curtain and see him pull out two packs of plasma from the refrigerator, then coming to me. “There’s no type A already. Two packs of blood type O are suitable. This kid is in good health and should not die.”

Fat fellow is looking at me with a blank expression: “This is the doctor. Now he has to clean up the wounds for you. Don’t move.”

I’m trembling all over. It’s the normal muscular reactions of people in pain. I can’t even control it myself.

I glance weakly at the bald man. Is he a doctor? Looking at his appearance, his face is full of fierce, more like a butcher than a doctor.

The bald man comes to me and begins to take off my clothes. He takes out a pair of scissors and carefully cutting off my bloody clothes. Then he gives me a cold look and says: “You are tough enough. How many cuts did you get?”

My lips are purple, and I’m gritting my teeth to say: “Thirteen!”

“Well, remember it very well.” The bald man is cracking his mouth and laughing. The smile looks fierce.

“Of course, I all remember!” I clench my teeth and say with a reluctant laugh, “I will return it in the future!”

Then he takes out a syringe with the liquid and injecting on my arm: “This is morphine to alleviate your pain.”

I’m so tired that I feel a little bit cold, and my consciousness is gradually leaving me. Although I try to open my eyes to see the people in front of me, the outline in front is still blurred little by little.

I don’t know whether it is the effect of morphine or the coma caused by excessive blood loss, so I close my eyes again. My body’s perception is dull, which is good, at least the pains are less intense. The next few hours, I’m just in a semi-coma and a semi-conscious state.

The butcher-like doctor has a pair of skillful hands. When he’s cleaning up my wound, he’s transfusing blood for me at the same time. There’s a set of blood transfusion equipment here!

Then, like a tailor, he carefully sews up thirteen wounds on my body! I feel like a torn doll is stitched up by pieces now.

Fat man has been standing at the end of the bed looking at me. He sees my eyes half opening and half closed, just joking: “You’ll have a lot more scars in the future. You can’t wear short sleeves T-shirt in summer anymore.”

I try to squeeze a smile from my face, but the muscles are stiff. I feel I don’t have the strength to control my facial muscles.

Then the doctor turns me over and let me lying on my side. I let him play with me like a puppet. I can hardly feel anything. The back clothes are cut by the scissors. In some places, the blood coagulated and the scab cracked when he is ripping off my clothes. It should be very painful, but now all my feelings are very slow, and I only feel a few tremblings of my body instinction.

“FXXX!” The doctor is stareing at my back for a few seconds, then turning to the fat fellow and says, “I say Ocean, what a fucking tough boy! Look at the back. It’s all honeycombed! Shit, all the skins and meats are rotten.”

Fat fellow is saying lightly: “Someone shot him with a homemade gun. Iron sand bullet, that thing is not too lethal, but one shot damages a large area. He wasn’t hit on the face is lucky! Don’t talk nonsense, just clean it up as soon as possible.”

The butcher-like doctor is pouting his mouth: “This is a delicate job. Need more money!”

Fat man says nothing, just slips a gold ring from his finger: “I don’t have much money, you just take this.”

The doctor takes it over. His hands are covered with blood, but he puts the ring in his mouth and biting hard. When he is sure it’s not a fake, so he just wiping it on his coat and puts it into his pocket.

Then the doctor takes out a small tweezers, put a lens on his eyes, and spent a full hour tweezing out the iron sands embedded in the flesh on my back.

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The whole process takes so long that the morphine power on my body has gradually faded. At last, the sweat beads on my forehead keep falling, and the fat fellow is no longer standing at the end of the bed. Instead, he is pressing me hard to keep me from moving.

This guy is so strong that with a pair of big palms pressing me. I can hardly move. But the doctor is still not satisfied: “Don’t move! Don’t let him fucking move!”

Fat fellow is also sweating, anxious: “Damn, you try?! This kid is so strong!”

Finally, my eyes are darkening, and I lose consciousness again.

When I wake up, it is already light. I’ve got bandages all over my upper body, and the same goes for my thighs. My body is like a mummy and my head even can not turn.

I was woken up by the pain. People who did not experience it can’t understand, although the body is wrapped up, but the muscles seem to be constantly whipped! The twitching pains are making my wholebody twisting like a snake.

Fat fellow is sitting at my bedside and smoking. Sees me wake up, throw the cigarette away immediately, he comes up and holding me down, shouting to me: “I know it hurts, but you fucking hold it! Don’t crack the wounds!”

I’m in a state of mental disorder in pain and scolding: “Hold… Hold damn fuck! It’s killing me!”

I’m sweating all over and the pains have taken control of my entire nervous system. To tell the truth, I’m sheding tears.

Not that I am weak, but at this moment, the secretion of the lacrimal gland has not been controlled by myself! It’s like someone punches you in the nose and you can’t help crying when you feel sore! Not only my tears, but also the snivels are running. My whole face is dirty. The tears and snivels are mixed with sweat. Fat fellow is pressing me very hard. But when a man is struggling in extreme pain, the strength is beyond imagination. He is anxious, can not help shouting: “Doc! Come fucking fast! This kid’s crazy!”

The doctor’s cold voice is coming far away: “Crazy you fucking ghost! Haven’t you been hurt before! You don’t know it’s a normal reaction? The pain will be over in a few minutes. Just press him to keep him still.”

Fat fellow is sweating all his face: “You just give him another shot of morphine!”

“It’s all used up!” The doctor says coldly, “Do you take here as a big hospital? That thing is hard to get.”

I can’t help screaming, and my voice is hoarse. Fat fellow covers my mouth: “Don’t be screaming!” he snaps at me, “You want to die?!” Then he simply pulls something unknow to stick in my mouth.

I’m shivering with the pains; my fingers are clutching at the sheet; my knuckles are stickingout and becoming pale!

Fortunately, such pains last for a few minutes every time. After a while, I get over a little, and gradually stop shivevering. Fat fellow sees me not moving. He just let go of me, wiping his forehead, laughing and scolding: “You are like a fucking bull. I could hardly press you down.”

I’m still aching, desperately breathing the cool air, speechless. He lights a cigarette, putting into my mouth and murmuring: “Just take a puff, may be comfortable a little.”

I just like a baby finding a pacifier, once bite the cigarette end, the filter is bitten. I’m desperately smoking. One third of a cigarette is inhaled by me for just one breath. Fat fellow takes it away quickly. My mouth is smoking and my eyes are looking at the ceiling. My body is shaking faintly, and I’m clenching my teeth without saying a word.

At this moment, my heart is full of hate!

It’s a really tough day!

I can’t remember how many times I fell asleep but was woken up by the pains very soon. And then I struggling, exhausted, falling asleep, and woke up again. It’s been like this over and over again a whole day.

Fat fellow is tired enough, but the doctor never intervens. He just occasionally comes over to check for my injuries. He looks cold, as if I am not a living man at all, but a dead dog in front of him.

I don’t know the exact time, but the lights in the room have turned on and off. Outside the window on one side, the palm-sized sky has turned black to white. Then I know another day has passed.

The next afternoon, I finally get over.

Although my body still hurts, my face is pale, I have very few strengths. But basically, no need to press me, occasionally when the pain passed, I can also talk to the fat man for some words.

The doctor is not here, there are only two of us in the room.

“How do you feel?” He finds a chair to sit beside me, legs on the bed, smoking. and looking at me.

I force a smile: “Thank you! You saved my life!”

He is laughing, coming over to wipe the runny nose and sweats, and the tears of course on my face with his thick palm.

Then he is asking me a question suddenly.

“Ask you a question I asked the day before yesterday. Now, do you still think, it is worth?”

He is looking at me with a meaningful smile.

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