I Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier
I got soul but I'm not a soldier, Ch.2
2
I went from conscience to unconsciousness several times and every time when I opened my eyes, the honey brown eyes were there again, looking at me. When I finally had the strength to stay awake for a longer time, I learned that the honey brown eyes belonged to a twenty-year-old British soldier named Ryan. He had been brought to the hospital a couple of days before I was, with a severe shoulder wound that he had gotten from a piece of shell that had exploded near him.
“Are you going to stay awake now?” was the first thing I can remember him asking me. I smiled and nodded. “I’ll do my best,” I replied with a raspy voice. “Good, I was starting to get bored of seeing you wake up and fall asleep again every few hours,” he chuckled and his beautiful brown eyes caught my sight again.
“I’m Ryan Ross,” he introduced himself with a thick, British accent. “Brendon Urie,” I replied and stretched out my arm, wanting to shake his hand. “I can’t move my arm,” he said and it was only then that I had noticed the bandage. “Oh, sorry,” I replied, pulling my hand back.
We started talking and we got along really well. When the night time came and we were supposed to be asleep, an irritated nurse showed up, telling us to shut up and stop laughing. It just made us laugh even more.
Unlike Ryan, I had to stay in bed the entire time so that my knee could heal. Ryan could still walk around as long as he didn’t move his shoulder too much. After a week and a half, the nurses told me that if I could, I was allowed to leave my bed and walk, as long as I’d use the crutches they had given me.
“Come on, Brendon,” Ryan whined as he was sitting on the edge of my bed. “Just try to stand up,” he told me. I let out a deep sigh. I didn’t think I would’ve had troubles with walking at all, because the wound had almost healed, but I didn’t want to walk. The fact that I was immobile would keep me safe. If I had started walking again, they might have sent me back to fight and I didn’t want that. “One day, a nurse will drag you out of this bed and force you to walk, you know. And you’ll be sent back anyway,” Ryan told me, standing up. The guy could read me like a book. I turned my face away from him. I knew he was speaking the truth; I just didn’t want to accept it. “I know how much you detest this war and trust me, I do too, but this is our faith. We have no other choice,” he spoke, pressing my nose against the facts that I so badly wanted to ignore. “Come on, just for a short walk,” he tried, tugging at my hand. “It’ll do you good, you’ve been lying in this bed for more than two weeks.”
After I gave him a few weak arguments, he finally managed to talk me out of the bed. I sighed and sat upright. “Just lean on my good shoulder,” he said, helping me stand up. I nodded and firmly grasped his shoulder, resting most of my weight on it. I hadn’t walked in weeks, so my legs were weak, especially my right leg where the bullet had hit my knee. My knee didn’t hurt a lot, just a dull kind of pain, but it didn’t bother me. With Ryan’s help, I made a small walk through the hospital ward, but then I had to sit down again because my legs were too tired.
“We’ll save that walk to outside this building for later,” Ryan told me, helping me back into the bed. I gave him a thankful smile and nodded. “But you have to admit that this little walk did you good, I can see it in your eyes,” he said and smirked, the tip of his tongue peeking out through his pink lips. “If you say so,” I replied with a shrug, too proud to admit that he had been right. “Good, then we’ll go for another little walk tomorrow,” he smiled and flopped down on his own bed, his bad shoulder making a rather hard contact with the iron bar at the side of the bed. He let out a loud groan of pain and grasped his shoulder with his left hand. “Bloody hell.”
I didn’t hesitate for one second and practically jumped out of my bed, not caring that my legs might not be able to carry me. “Are you okay?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed, giving him a worried look. He nodded, a painful grimace spread all over his face. “It’s okay,” he told me, trying to force a smile. “Do you want me to call a nurse?” I questioned, still worried about him. “No, Brendon, it’s okay, I’m fine,” he reassured me, patting my leg. “You need to give your legs some rest, get back into your bed,” he said, his hand still resting on his injured shoulder. I shook my head. “I’m fine sitting here,” I told him. I liked being close to him, it never occurred to me why back then, I just knew that I liked it. It was simply a fact. “Fine then,” Ryan replied and sunk a little bit back into his pillow, taking his hand away from his shoulder.
***
“Absolutely fantastic!” Ryan cheered as I had managed to walk to the exit of the hospital building. We sat down outside, on a wooden bench, letting my legs rest so I would have enough strength to walk back later. I sent Ryan a small smile and he proudly patted my shoulder.
A truck stopped in front of the large hospital building. A few soldiers hopped out of the truck and walked to the back of it. They helped the few soldiers that still had been strong enough to walk by themselves. Soon, there were nurses showing up with gurneys to carry some of the unconscious soldiers away. More lives had been ruined.
“Have you ever shot anyone?” I asked Ryan, tearing my eyes away from the wounded and dirty soldiers. Ryan nodded slowly. “A few times,” he said with a sigh. “I killed four other soldiers and wounded a few more. I’m not proud of it though, but in some situations, you have no other choice, it’s killing or being killed,” he told me with a sad tone in his voice. As he was talking, I noticed his eyes getting darker and it sent a shiver up my spine. I liked the lighter honey brown colour better. Now his eyes were almost black. “Have you ever shot anyone?” he asked. “One soldier,” I spoke and the memory of the dead man returned. I saw his lifeless body lying on the ground, his blood flowing out of his chest. It was something I would never forgive myself. “And right after I was shot in the knee, someone else killed the man who shot me,” I added. “It wasn’t fair,” I said in a soft whisper. “They should’ve let him go, he spared my life by shooting me in the leg. He never wanted to kill me,” I sighed, feeling miserable again. “It wasn’t your fault, Brendon,” Ryan spoke, rubbing my upper leg. “Because of this war, we’re being forced into doing these things that we rather wouldn’t do, but we have no choice. Please don’t blame yourself for anything that has happened, or will happen,” he said, sending me a reassuring smile.
“I want to go back inside,” I murmured after being silent for a few minutes. Ryan nodded and helped me up. I could’ve used the crutches one of the nurses gave me, but Ryan said that he didn’t mind supporting me while I walked. He thought that my legs would get better faster if I didn’t use the crutches. Years later, when I looked back at it, I thought that it was just a way of him to be closer to me. Not that I ever minded. Hell no.
Another two weeks passed and the one thing Ryan and I had feared the most finally happened; we were fit enough to be sent back to the war. The night before we had to leave, I cried. Ryan must’ve heard me and got out of his bed. “Brendon?” he asked in a soft whisper, his hand resting on my hair. I merely sniffed in response. “Don’t cry, Brendon,” he shushed, seeking my hand in the dark. “Everything will be fine,” he said, giving my hand a small squeeze. That night, he held my hand until I had fallen asleep. I think it was then that I started to have stronger feelings for him. Feelings that went beyond the barrier of friendship. I hated those feelings. Not because it was wrong according to our society. But Ryan was a soldier and he might die the following day or one of the days after that. I didn’t want to get attached to someone who might have been gone tomorrow.
I went from conscience to unconsciousness several times and every time when I opened my eyes, the honey brown eyes were there again, looking at me. When I finally had the strength to stay awake for a longer time, I learned that the honey brown eyes belonged to a twenty-year-old British soldier named Ryan. He had been brought to the hospital a couple of days before I was, with a severe shoulder wound that he had gotten from a piece of shell that had exploded near him.
“Are you going to stay awake now?” was the first thing I can remember him asking me. I smiled and nodded. “I’ll do my best,” I replied with a raspy voice. “Good, I was starting to get bored of seeing you wake up and fall asleep again every few hours,” he chuckled and his beautiful brown eyes caught my sight again.
“I’m Ryan Ross,” he introduced himself with a thick, British accent. “Brendon Urie,” I replied and stretched out my arm, wanting to shake his hand. “I can’t move my arm,” he said and it was only then that I had noticed the bandage. “Oh, sorry,” I replied, pulling my hand back.
We started talking and we got along really well. When the night time came and we were supposed to be asleep, an irritated nurse showed up, telling us to shut up and stop laughing. It just made us laugh even more.
Unlike Ryan, I had to stay in bed the entire time so that my knee could heal. Ryan could still walk around as long as he didn’t move his shoulder too much. After a week and a half, the nurses told me that if I could, I was allowed to leave my bed and walk, as long as I’d use the crutches they had given me.
“Come on, Brendon,” Ryan whined as he was sitting on the edge of my bed. “Just try to stand up,” he told me. I let out a deep sigh. I didn’t think I would’ve had troubles with walking at all, because the wound had almost healed, but I didn’t want to walk. The fact that I was immobile would keep me safe. If I had started walking again, they might have sent me back to fight and I didn’t want that. “One day, a nurse will drag you out of this bed and force you to walk, you know. And you’ll be sent back anyway,” Ryan told me, standing up. The guy could read me like a book. I turned my face away from him. I knew he was speaking the truth; I just didn’t want to accept it. “I know how much you detest this war and trust me, I do too, but this is our faith. We have no other choice,” he spoke, pressing my nose against the facts that I so badly wanted to ignore. “Come on, just for a short walk,” he tried, tugging at my hand. “It’ll do you good, you’ve been lying in this bed for more than two weeks.”
After I gave him a few weak arguments, he finally managed to talk me out of the bed. I sighed and sat upright. “Just lean on my good shoulder,” he said, helping me stand up. I nodded and firmly grasped his shoulder, resting most of my weight on it. I hadn’t walked in weeks, so my legs were weak, especially my right leg where the bullet had hit my knee. My knee didn’t hurt a lot, just a dull kind of pain, but it didn’t bother me. With Ryan’s help, I made a small walk through the hospital ward, but then I had to sit down again because my legs were too tired.
“We’ll save that walk to outside this building for later,” Ryan told me, helping me back into the bed. I gave him a thankful smile and nodded. “But you have to admit that this little walk did you good, I can see it in your eyes,” he said and smirked, the tip of his tongue peeking out through his pink lips. “If you say so,” I replied with a shrug, too proud to admit that he had been right. “Good, then we’ll go for another little walk tomorrow,” he smiled and flopped down on his own bed, his bad shoulder making a rather hard contact with the iron bar at the side of the bed. He let out a loud groan of pain and grasped his shoulder with his left hand. “Bloody hell.”
I didn’t hesitate for one second and practically jumped out of my bed, not caring that my legs might not be able to carry me. “Are you okay?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed, giving him a worried look. He nodded, a painful grimace spread all over his face. “It’s okay,” he told me, trying to force a smile. “Do you want me to call a nurse?” I questioned, still worried about him. “No, Brendon, it’s okay, I’m fine,” he reassured me, patting my leg. “You need to give your legs some rest, get back into your bed,” he said, his hand still resting on his injured shoulder. I shook my head. “I’m fine sitting here,” I told him. I liked being close to him, it never occurred to me why back then, I just knew that I liked it. It was simply a fact. “Fine then,” Ryan replied and sunk a little bit back into his pillow, taking his hand away from his shoulder.
***
“Absolutely fantastic!” Ryan cheered as I had managed to walk to the exit of the hospital building. We sat down outside, on a wooden bench, letting my legs rest so I would have enough strength to walk back later. I sent Ryan a small smile and he proudly patted my shoulder.
A truck stopped in front of the large hospital building. A few soldiers hopped out of the truck and walked to the back of it. They helped the few soldiers that still had been strong enough to walk by themselves. Soon, there were nurses showing up with gurneys to carry some of the unconscious soldiers away. More lives had been ruined.
“Have you ever shot anyone?” I asked Ryan, tearing my eyes away from the wounded and dirty soldiers. Ryan nodded slowly. “A few times,” he said with a sigh. “I killed four other soldiers and wounded a few more. I’m not proud of it though, but in some situations, you have no other choice, it’s killing or being killed,” he told me with a sad tone in his voice. As he was talking, I noticed his eyes getting darker and it sent a shiver up my spine. I liked the lighter honey brown colour better. Now his eyes were almost black. “Have you ever shot anyone?” he asked. “One soldier,” I spoke and the memory of the dead man returned. I saw his lifeless body lying on the ground, his blood flowing out of his chest. It was something I would never forgive myself. “And right after I was shot in the knee, someone else killed the man who shot me,” I added. “It wasn’t fair,” I said in a soft whisper. “They should’ve let him go, he spared my life by shooting me in the leg. He never wanted to kill me,” I sighed, feeling miserable again. “It wasn’t your fault, Brendon,” Ryan spoke, rubbing my upper leg. “Because of this war, we’re being forced into doing these things that we rather wouldn’t do, but we have no choice. Please don’t blame yourself for anything that has happened, or will happen,” he said, sending me a reassuring smile.
“I want to go back inside,” I murmured after being silent for a few minutes. Ryan nodded and helped me up. I could’ve used the crutches one of the nurses gave me, but Ryan said that he didn’t mind supporting me while I walked. He thought that my legs would get better faster if I didn’t use the crutches. Years later, when I looked back at it, I thought that it was just a way of him to be closer to me. Not that I ever minded. Hell no.
Another two weeks passed and the one thing Ryan and I had feared the most finally happened; we were fit enough to be sent back to the war. The night before we had to leave, I cried. Ryan must’ve heard me and got out of his bed. “Brendon?” he asked in a soft whisper, his hand resting on my hair. I merely sniffed in response. “Don’t cry, Brendon,” he shushed, seeking my hand in the dark. “Everything will be fine,” he said, giving my hand a small squeeze. That night, he held my hand until I had fallen asleep. I think it was then that I started to have stronger feelings for him. Feelings that went beyond the barrier of friendship. I hated those feelings. Not because it was wrong according to our society. But Ryan was a soldier and he might die the following day or one of the days after that. I didn’t want to get attached to someone who might have been gone tomorrow.