Read Commodity for Free Online Page B

bed as I feel his hand on my ankle again.
    “I can still get you that bullet.”  His voice remains quiet and calm even though I know he’s got a needle and thread poised over my flesh.
    I shake my head quickly, not completely sure if he’s trying to make a joke or not.
    “This is going to sting.”
    I feel cold liquid running over my skin, and I hiss as the alcohol makes its way into the wound.  The whiskey has dulled the sensation a little but not nearly enough.
    “You got this,” Eckhart says.  “I’ve seen guys in combat freak out more than you have.  You’re doing great.”
    I know the exact moment the needle punctures my skin.  I squeeze my eyes shut, forgetting all about the spot I was going to focus on.  I try to find that happy meadow in my head, but all the dandelions are dead, their seeds cast to the wind, and the sky is dark and foreboding.
    Instead, I focus on my breathing.  In, out.  In, out.  Another stab.  In through my nose, out through my mouth.  Another.  This one feels deeper, and I hold my breath as I tense.
    “Relax.”  Eckhart’s soft words flow into my ears.  “Halfway there.”
    “Only…half?”  I can barely get the words out.
    I can feel my skin being pulled and tightened with each stitch.  I can’t look down to see what he’s doing.  If I do, I know I’ll throw up or pass out or worse.
    “Almost there.”
    I swallow hard, focus on my breathing, and try to keep the tears at bay.
    “One more.”
    “Just get it done!”  I hiss through my teeth as the final stab and pull makes my head swim.
    “Got it!”  Eckhart leans back a little.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grab something on the bed beside me.  “Just need to finish cleaning it up and getting it covered.”
    I stay motionless as he opens a tube of antibiotic cream and applies a generous amount to the wound.  Finally, he covers it up with gauze and tapes the bandage around the rest of my leg.
    I’m still dizzy when I sit up.  The white gauze looks strange wrapped around my leg, but I’m glad I can’t see the actual cut any longer.
    “Can I walk on it?”
    “Try not to do much,” Eckhart says, “but you should be all right to move a bit.”
    It does feel better when I stand, and I can walk on it more easily even though I’m limping.  He puts all the medical supplies back in the footlocker and shuts it.  I follow him into the living room, my head full of questions.
    “So, what—you’ve been…been planning for this?”  I wave a hand back in the direction of his bedroom.
    “It’s always good to be prepared.”
    “And now what?”
    “Survive.”
    Another simple little word, but his tone and the meaning behind it…it’s too much.  My head fills with visions of the man burning in the street, the sounds of buildings toppling to the ground, and the screams of people all around me, and it’s all too much to take.
    My knees give out, and I drop to the floor.  I barely recognize the sounds coming from my throat as panic takes over.
    “Shit,” Eckhart mutters.  He walks into my view and drops down beside me.  Tentatively, he touches his hand to my shoulder, and I flinch.  “You’re okay.  You’re going to be okay.  Just breathe.”
    I double over, my stomach cramping up on me.  Wrapping my arms around myself, I lean over until my head is nearly touching the floor.  Eckhart is beside me, and I know he’s speaking to me, but his words have no meaning.
    I’ve had attacks like this before, shortly after my personal nightmare unfolded.  There are anti-anxiety drugs in my checked luggage for whatever good that does me now.  I try to remember what the doctors told me about keeping my focus on one thing until my mind and body calm down, but I have nothing to focus on.
    I’m in an unfamiliar place in a situation that is beyond bizarre.  I have no method for coping with this.  I feel a hand on my arm.  The touch is slow and gentle, and I reach to grab hold.
    Eckhart’s