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Send me ▼ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.INJURY SPECIAL
Number generated: 15 Maybe it was in the younger male’s nature to care like he did but having spent his entire career in dangerous situations, kill or be killed— targeted and attacked, watching his fellow soldiers be maimed by roadside explosives or .50 caliber bullets going as far as leaving a limb hanging by a hinge of flesh and blood, tears running down their faces no matter how hard they try to maintain their composure— the pain, the pain is too much to handle.
Marc was making sure that the soldier’s six hour old wound was well dressed and it just wasn't something he expected from a civilian. It was something he expected from his squad mates that perished a couple of years ago in Iraq. And just the thought of them, the soft reminder of how much they used to care about him and the emptiness that he felt after they were gone only irritated more and more. Not really realizing that Marc was only trying to help. "Man, just stop worrying about me."
It was easy to tell that James was some degree of annoyed. There was no reason that he would particularly wish to share with his companion but it was the kind where something was obviously wrong and going to remain hidden if the other man didn't push the subject-- however, it would be something that he would have to do awfully gently. "You don't take care of yourself, you act like you know everything and then you yell at me?" Marc was quick to be confrontational, only because he was just as annoyed with the older male's behavior. "I'll worry if I want because you're my ticket out of here." His cheeks were growing red out of frustration, "Just please... We need to get out of here alive."
