Page 12 of Snow Blind
"This bitch could push this gurney into the back of my van, then roll your ass out to your campsite and let them have at you," Passion Fruit said. "I took a chance thinking there was a man inside of you worth of a second chance to get it right. Do you wish to get it right, or do you want to go back to being the person who earned that bullet?"
Bryan closed his eyes. "I was wrong, you're scarier," he mumbled. "There are good people in the world who get killed. People who are trying to do the right thing on the wrong day also get bullet holes. I'm more man than you think. However, cruelty in any form is not cute."
"You think I'm being cruel?" Passion Fruit asked.
"The pain is a reminder of me being dumb. Failure to help me manage it is you being cruel," he said, sighing deeply. He was done talking to either of them for now. The stinging, followed by a deep throb, radiated up his leg. Concentration and deep breathing would be required to get through the healing without pain medication. Antibiotics would be welcomed. The company of the women would not.
Silently, they left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He was also alone with the pain. It was then, in a new solitude that he began to cry. The tears came as a cleansing agent, washing away the idea of having to get back out there and fight alone. Two scary women had him locked away from those who wished him harm.
At least these two would help him heal. He was safer here with them than out there taking a chance and being the crosshairs of whoever tried to make him dead. Deep in his heart, he knew who it was, but he would deal with each day as it came. Today, he was faced with a new opponent: pain.
"This is going to hurt a lot," he said, sobbing into the pillow.
****
IN THE LIVING ROOM, Helen stood in the middle of the floor. The home was drab and needed some color. Hell, Passion Fruit needed some color. Her blond hair hung to her shoulders with no bounce to it. The colors of the clothing she wore were also drab and gave no clue who she was or how she lived. She honestly looked as if she said, “Fuck it” in 2016 to the Personality Fairy and never went back to claim an optimist trait.
"No pain meds are kind of harsh," Helen said.
"Not knowing who he is when he is on his feet is one thing; having him high and not knowing who he is when he is on his feet is another," Passion Fruit said. "I don't know enough of his medical history or his mental state to give him a narcotic. It could go horribly wrong."
"You can give him at least some acetaminophen," Helen said.
"I will, but not on an empty stomach," she replied. "The fall didn't evacuate his bowels if you noticed when you took off his pants. He may be empty. I have to start with a cup of broth this morning and in the afternoon, some mashed potatoes."
"What do you mean when he is on his feet?"
Passion Fruit wasn't a large woman. On a good day, if she was carrying two bricks in her pocket, she may have weighed a good hundred and twenty pounds. However, Helen had learned to not underestimate people.
"Helen, how much do you weigh, a buck twenty?"
"Somewhere around there," Helen said.
"Face me," Lashonda said, watching Helen turn. She tucked her tongue under, pressing it to the bottom row of teeth and whistled. Before Helen had a chance to react, Candy, the Cane Corso, ran at Helen and dove into her, knocking her to the ground.
The weight of the dog, in the position she landed, pressed Helen to the floor. Lashonda watched her struggle to get up from under the 99-pound dog, and Helen was losing. Candy pressed her body into Helen, becoming dead weight, pinning her to the floor.
"Good Girl," Lashonda said, giving two whistles, and Candy moved off Helen.
Slowly, she got to her feet, scowling at Lashonda. "You could have warned me."
"Candy weighs almost a hundred pounds. Bryan is twice that," she said. "When you look at your weight in comparison to his, you will need double the speed to counter his mass, to equal his energy. Basically, an Einsteinian approach to taking down a son of a bitch. You have to hit fast and quick to take down someone twice your size. E is the equivalent of energy equaling mass times the doubled speed of light."
Helen stared at her mutherfuckingly. Last month, Lemon had her learning chemistry, and now this heffah wanted her to do math.
"You are using Einstein's E equals MC squared to explain your big ass dog assaulting me?"
"No, I am using math to explain that as a woman who weighs a buck twenty, you have to learn to use your weight as an asset and not as a hindrance." She explained it calmly, as if Helen were the second dumbest person on the planet. "If he were to come at us, it would take me, you, and Candy to take him down if he were high and had no fear. Plus, if who shot him comes to the door, he needs to be sober as a parson."
"Where the hell would you find a fucking parson, Lashonda? Are you one of those people who likes to play with words to fuck with people's heads? You could have simply said, sober as a nun, but nah, you have to go with a freaking parson," Helen said, feeling irritated. Scowling, she asked, "So what's the plan? For my training?"
"You have to learn the high-end calculations of math to stage accidents," she replied. "The mass of the target and the speed of fall, which computes with the amount of energy required to end a life. In the interim, you need to learn to fight."
"I can take down a full-grown man," Helen boasted, sticking out her chest.
"Yes, but what will you do when he gets up and comes at you head on? I saw you use the knives; cute, but I'm going to teach you how to use those hands with your pretty painted nails to throw a blow and knock the wind out of a man," Lashonda said.
“You? How...” was all Helen remembered asking when she woke up on the couch, and an hour had passed.
