I Will Be Here

Lynne:

We were back in the infirmary in a flash. Clay was lying back down on the bed, now completely unconscious. It was like the minute his body touched the soft cushions, he lost all of his adrenaline. I was surprised that he stayed conscious for as long as he did.

Isabella followed quickly behind us. The minute he was lying down, she got to work. Despite looking unsure of herself, panic imbued across her face, I noticed how steady her hands were. The way she commanded me to get each item, bandages, alcohol, her medical kit… She was a very competent medic. Despite being flustered, the steps were in her bones. Something only possibly for somebody who started studying to be a medic since they were born.

She skillfully stitched Clay's wound shut, but where the slash was the deepest at Clay's shoulder was definitely deep enough to scar. "Alright. That's all I can do for now." Isabella explained, her voice shaken. "His life isn't in danger since I could tend to his wounds early enough. But he cannot lose any more blood, so make sure he doesn't reopen his wound."

"Thank you, Isabella," I said, giving her a smile.

She blushed, her eyes casting to the side. "N-No problem!"

"I'll make sure he gets plenty of rest. You can relax now." I told her, seeing the sweat dripping down her face. 

Isabella gave me a small nod. "I'll be right outside if you need anything." She said before leaving the infirmary, closing the door behind her.

I was alone with Clay now. For some reason, my heart thumped as I approached his unconscious form. His breathing was steady now, but his body was still shaking. As soon as I got close, my eyes widened. Through the bandages, I saw all the scars he had on his body. There were so many that it was hard to find unwounded skin. I shuttered to think what his back looked like.

The sight was enough to make me choke up. Clay has been through so much… I wondered what each scar was from. The story behind each one.

The way he was acting before the fight… the way he was smiling, his confidence… reminded me of a stage persona. A personality that a performer would put on to get the crowd riled up.

Then at the end of the fight… how his eyes looked like he was somewhere completely different. Like he was sleepwalking. That look on his face when he was about to kill Eyvind. Something about it seemed off… forced. There was desperation there, like a puppet master controlled everything he was doing, pulling his strings. He wasn't in control of himself, his mind shattered. Like Clay had discarded his humanity.

"Uhg… Wha-? Where…?"

A gruff voice rang from under me, arms shifting on the bed. "Clay! You're awake!" I exclaimed. "Are… you alright?"

Clay's face twisted in pain, and he stopped moving. "Don't ask stupid questions." He grumbled, his face twisting in annoyance. "I'm fine."

I couldn't help but look away from him. Even while wincing in pain, he was telling me he was fine. The boy could barely move, could barely talk… and it was all because of a stupid duel that I set up. A stupid duel that was meant to kill him… that I agreed to. I was lucky that he didn't die…

"Quit it with that pathetic expression. I said I'm fine!" He snapped at me.

I gently placed my hand on his wrist. He was shaking all over. His eyes were still unfocused. Whatever happened at the end of that fight didn't only worsen his physical injuries…

"Clay… You're still shaking."

I felt his hand push me away; the movement making Clay wince, but he kept that tough expression on his face. "It's nothing! I'll get over it!" He spat, his tone defensive as if I was accusing him of something.

"Clay… What happened to you back there?" I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle. I knitted my eyebrows, trying to analyze Clay's expression. I think he realized what I was doing because he turned his head away from me to hide whatever his face would give away.

"It's nothing new." He said matter-of-factly. "Sometimes I get nightmares when I'm awake. It's been happening for as long as I can remember. So, it's no big deal."

I bit my lip when I realized what that meant. I remembered learning a bit about that. I didn't know much about psychology, but during our history unit, I was taught that sometimes when soldiers come back from war they have something called PTSD. It's triggered by experiencing some traumatic event and one of the major symptoms is flashbacks, in which a person feels like they are reliving the event… I knew Clay was a slave… It wouldn't be impossible. If I was right… He must have gone through horrible things before we met… Things that I would never be able to understand… that I didn't even know how to help.

I felt so helpless. There was just one thing I could do.

"Alright. If you ever feel ready to tell me about it… I will be here to listen."

Clay shifted his gaze back to me for a moment, the smallest hint of a smile appearing across his lips.

At the very least, I will be here.

That's when the door to the infirmary creaked open. Standing at the entrance was Cecelia, her arms crossed and her eyes shifting ever so slightly. "I heard you two talking, which must mean he's awake."

I narrowed my eyes at her, but the apologetic look on her face made me realize she had little choice in the matter. She received direct orders from the king to not stop the fight. The person I should be mad at is my father, not her. So, with a deep breath, I tried to release my anger. Clay was alright, that's what matters. "Yeh. He just woke up not long ago."

Cecelia walked into the infirmary without another word. Clay strained himself to sit up and meet her eyes. They stared each other down with tense energy about them for a few moments before Cecelia smiled. "Not just anybody can beat Eyvind like that." She said.

Clay smirked at her. "Told-ya I wasn't a pushover."

"I still don't like that a peasant will be in this academy…" She said, Clay's expression sunk to anger for a moment before Cecelia continued. "However, somebody as strong as you at least deserves a chance."

She placed a folded-up gray uniform on Clay's bed. "Your skills are unpolished and boorish. All your movements are unrefined and you waste a lot of energy on unnecessary motions, leaving yourself wide open." Clay's expression remained focused. He wasn't taking offence to her words. I could tell he was soaking in the information, ready to use it to improve himself. "And… you're strong. I'm curious to see how far you could take your swordsmanship with some real training."

Her smile grew wider. "The king has acknowledged your strength! I welcome you, as a new student of Swordsman Academy!"