Gunslingers

Another fucking hospital room. Stark white walls and the horrible, sterile smell of antiseptic cleaning supplies. I hated hospitals. I had said it before, and I would fucking say it again. I HATED HOSPITALS. And the fact that most of my life had been spent in one drove me up a god damn wall.

"Lieutenant Martinez?" A nurse asked, staring me in the eyes. "The doctor is ready to fit you now."

I looked her up and down, fury forming in my eyes. I didn't want to see the doctor. The doctors were wrong. I was fine. I was going to get past this. I always did. They just hadn't given me enough time or asked for my permission. They had just taken away what was mine.

"It's good to see you again, Rae." Dr. Wallace walked in. He was an American doctor with large, almost anime-like eyes and a rotund belly. Part of me hated this guy, and the other part was very thankful to him.

I nodded at him. In light of recent events, I had taken a vow of silence. No longer would I speak. I was broken now, so what was the point of having a voice? There was no need for me to be anything other than what I was. Speaking no longer felt good, speaking no longer felt like something I could manage.

"Let's fit you for your prosthetic." Dr. Wallace gently pulled off the covers.

I had to look away, but I still saw the sight. My left leg was a stump. There was nothing but part of my thigh left. I was a freak, a half person. All because of some stupid bullet. I was no longer a Marine; I never would be again.

"I know it's still hard for you to see, but I need you to tell me how it feels, okay?" Wallace gently grabbed my leg and placed the fake one where my old one had been.

Tears filled my eyes as I watched him attach it to what was left of my leg. How could I still be the same after this? It was like God or Fate or whatever fucking hated me! First I had to take years off because of my shoulder injury, then Matt and I could never be, and now I WAS A CRIPPLE!

"Does it feel okay?"

I nodded, refusing to talk to the man who had taken my leg.

"Can you stand up for me?" He held out a hand to help me. I shakily stood up but managed to get up after his help. He let go of me and I took a tiny step. It felt good, natural even, but I still couldn't stand the way I knew it wasn't my own leg.

"Rae, I'm going to need you to talk."

"It feels like my old leg. When can I start PT?"

Dr. Wallace looked at me. I could see how much pain was in them at what he was about to say. That was not boding well for me. "Next week. We need to do one more surgery."

"For what?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "What could I possibly need ANOTHER FUCKING SURGERY FOR?"

Dr. Wallace stayed calm. "Shrapnel."

I screamed. This was going to be my life now.

Notes

Short and a filler, but there is a point to this one.