I Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier
I got soul but I'm not a soldier, Ch. 7
I had followed the man, carrying Ryan in my arms. On the inside, I was completely torn apart. If I had lost Ryan, my life would’ve been over. The man walked into a room and tapped a tall, middle-aged man on the shoulder. “Il y a un homme avec une blessure de balle au bras,” he spoke and I hadn’t understood a thing of it. The tall man had turned around and looked at Ryan. He nodded and stood up. “Mettre lui sur le lit,” the man spoke pointing at the bed. I supposed that he had told me to put Ryan on the bed. I nodded and carefully laid Ryan down on the soft mattress. “Please help him,” I whimpered, looking down at Ryan’s unconscious body. If I hadn’t known he had been shot, I would’ve thought he was sleeping. He looked so beautiful and peaceful. The only thing that disturbed that perfect picture was the blood-drenched piece of cloth around Ryan’s arm and the pale colour of his face.
“Follow with me. ‘e is help ‘im, ‘e be doctor,” the other man told me, standing in the door frame. “Warm food for you,” he added, motioning his arm. I looked back at Ryan and sniffed away a few tears. “I’ll be back soon,” I whispered and bent down to place a small kiss on his sweaty forehead. I followed the black dressed man, looking down at the dirty floor of the church. “He your… erm… ton frère?” the man asked, but again, I didn’t understand what he meant, so I just nodded. “Yeah, sure,” I answered, too tired and caught up with my thoughts to ask him what he had been saying.
“Drink it,” the man said, handing me a bowl of soup. I stared down at the bowl and shook my head. There had been no way I could’ve drunk that while I still didn’t know whether Ryan was going to make it or not.
***
“Monsieur, ton frère… ‘e be awake,” the man dressed in black told me, sitting down next to me. “You see ‘im?” he asked and I immediately nodded, standing up. I practically ran through the church, towards the room where I had brought Ryan about an hour ago. Without even knocking, I had opened the door and made a beeline to the bed where Ryan was lying. “Ryan,” I breathed, crouching down next to the bed. I looked at his arm that had a plain, white bandage around it. I took Ryan’s hand in mine and gave it a soft squeeze. “I thought I was going to lose you,” I muttered, stroking his hair with my free hand. “I was so scared,” I added, small tears leaking from my eyes. “I’m fine, Brendon,” he whispered, smiling a little bit. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he reassured me.
His face was still pale and sweaty, but I knew he was going to make it. If God had wanted Ryan to die, he would’ve taken my life as well, because there was no way that one of us could’ve lived without the other one. We belonged together. This may sound silly and cliché, but if I was a jar then Ryan would be my lid, fitting more perfect on me than any other lid ever could.
“I love you, Ryan,” I murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. Until that point, I had never said those words to him. It had felt good and satisfying to tell him what I had been thinking and feeling the entire time. “I love you,” I repeated, wanting to feel the same warm feeling again in the pit of my stomach as I spoke those three simple words.
Ryan’s smile widened. “I love you too, Brendon,” he said and tried to sit upright. I placed my hand on his chest, keeping him down on the bed. “You need to rest, Ryan. You lost a lot of blood,” I told him and stood up. I looked around me and in the corner of the room, I spotted a chair. “I’ll stay right here the entire time,” I said and walked over to the chair and placed it next to the bed. “So close those beautiful eyes and sleep,” I ordered, sitting down on the chair and taking his hand in mine again. I traced my index finger from the tip of his ring finger, down to his wrist. He had really, long and thin fingers. They looked so fragile, just like the rest of his slender posture. “Can I, at least, get a kiss?” he asked, sticking his lip forward in the cutest pout I had ever seen. “Of course you can,” I replied, cracking a large smile. I leant forward and kissed his forehead, his nose and then his lips. “Now sleep,” I grinned, gently stroking his cheek.
Ryan had closed his eyes and within a few minutes, he had fallen asleep. “He is strong man,” the doctor, said, looking at Ryan as he was standing in the doorframe of the room. I nodded in response. “He is,” I smiled as I was still holding Ryan’s hand. “Thank you so much for your help,” I spoke, hoping from the bottom of my heart that he understood what I was saying. “You saved his life, thank you so, so much,” I said and I think he had understood what I said; not necessarily because of the words I had said, but because of my facial expression and the tone of my voice. The man nodded and smiled. “De rien,” he replied and patted my shoulder, before exiting the room, leaving me and Ryan alone.
***
“Take it easy,” I smiled as Ryan eagerly gulped from the glass of water I had gotten him. He was sitting upright, his back resting against the headboard of the bed. We had been staying at the church for four days and Ryan was getting better and better by the minute. At the beginning, he had been weak because of the large amount of blood he had lost, but after a couple of days, he was getting less pale and he could already make a small walk around the church.
“I think we should leave this place in a couple of days,” Ryan started putting the glass of water away. “I think I’ll have my strength back in a few days, so it should be okay. We can’t stay here forever,” he told me and leant his head against mine. “I know,” I sighed, not really liking the idea of going on the road again. What if we would’ve run into another hostile soldier? What if that soldier was faster and shot one of us in the head? I didn’t want to be thinking all those things; it made me paranoid and scared.
“We’ll be more careful this time,” Ryan said as if he had been reading my mind. I nodded. I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen again. I would’ve done everything to protect Ryan. My Ryan. “We will,” I replied and pressed a small kiss against his cheek. “I love you,” I muttered and hugged him tightly. “Love you too, Brendon,” Ryan smiled, pulling back from the hug, so he could kiss me full on the lips. His tongue had immediately sneaked its way into my mouth, roughly sliding against my own tongue. It was a needy and passionate kiss and when we broke it for fresh air, we were both panting a little bit.
I smiled and he rested his head on my shoulder again. It was then that I had noticed, François, the man I had met when we had just arrived here, standing in the door frame. His eyes were wide and full off shock. I had gone bright red from embarrassment and I didn’t dare to look François into the eye. “Tu embrasses ton frère comme ça tout le temps?” he said and I had not clue what he was trying to tell us. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I spoke, cocking an eyebrow. “You kiss your frère?” he questioned, still giving us a shocked look.
“Brendon,” Ryan whispered, tugging at the sleeve of my sweater. “He thinks we’re brothers,” he told me, not able to hold back a small chuckle. “Oh…damn,” I muttered and looked back at François. “We’re not brothers,” I explained to him, hoping he would understand, otherwise, things might be a little awkward for him; more than they already were. “Pas de frères,” Ryan spoke up, completely surprising me. I hadn’t known he could speak and understand French. “Since when did you speak French?” I asked with a questioning look. “I just picked up a few things since I’ve been here in France,” he replied with a small smile. “Ah, oké, bien,” François muttered and turned around again, still looking beyond confused.
“Follow with me. ‘e is help ‘im, ‘e be doctor,” the other man told me, standing in the door frame. “Warm food for you,” he added, motioning his arm. I looked back at Ryan and sniffed away a few tears. “I’ll be back soon,” I whispered and bent down to place a small kiss on his sweaty forehead. I followed the black dressed man, looking down at the dirty floor of the church. “He your… erm… ton frère?” the man asked, but again, I didn’t understand what he meant, so I just nodded. “Yeah, sure,” I answered, too tired and caught up with my thoughts to ask him what he had been saying.
“Drink it,” the man said, handing me a bowl of soup. I stared down at the bowl and shook my head. There had been no way I could’ve drunk that while I still didn’t know whether Ryan was going to make it or not.
***
“Monsieur, ton frère… ‘e be awake,” the man dressed in black told me, sitting down next to me. “You see ‘im?” he asked and I immediately nodded, standing up. I practically ran through the church, towards the room where I had brought Ryan about an hour ago. Without even knocking, I had opened the door and made a beeline to the bed where Ryan was lying. “Ryan,” I breathed, crouching down next to the bed. I looked at his arm that had a plain, white bandage around it. I took Ryan’s hand in mine and gave it a soft squeeze. “I thought I was going to lose you,” I muttered, stroking his hair with my free hand. “I was so scared,” I added, small tears leaking from my eyes. “I’m fine, Brendon,” he whispered, smiling a little bit. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he reassured me.
His face was still pale and sweaty, but I knew he was going to make it. If God had wanted Ryan to die, he would’ve taken my life as well, because there was no way that one of us could’ve lived without the other one. We belonged together. This may sound silly and cliché, but if I was a jar then Ryan would be my lid, fitting more perfect on me than any other lid ever could.
“I love you, Ryan,” I murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. Until that point, I had never said those words to him. It had felt good and satisfying to tell him what I had been thinking and feeling the entire time. “I love you,” I repeated, wanting to feel the same warm feeling again in the pit of my stomach as I spoke those three simple words.
Ryan’s smile widened. “I love you too, Brendon,” he said and tried to sit upright. I placed my hand on his chest, keeping him down on the bed. “You need to rest, Ryan. You lost a lot of blood,” I told him and stood up. I looked around me and in the corner of the room, I spotted a chair. “I’ll stay right here the entire time,” I said and walked over to the chair and placed it next to the bed. “So close those beautiful eyes and sleep,” I ordered, sitting down on the chair and taking his hand in mine again. I traced my index finger from the tip of his ring finger, down to his wrist. He had really, long and thin fingers. They looked so fragile, just like the rest of his slender posture. “Can I, at least, get a kiss?” he asked, sticking his lip forward in the cutest pout I had ever seen. “Of course you can,” I replied, cracking a large smile. I leant forward and kissed his forehead, his nose and then his lips. “Now sleep,” I grinned, gently stroking his cheek.
Ryan had closed his eyes and within a few minutes, he had fallen asleep. “He is strong man,” the doctor, said, looking at Ryan as he was standing in the doorframe of the room. I nodded in response. “He is,” I smiled as I was still holding Ryan’s hand. “Thank you so much for your help,” I spoke, hoping from the bottom of my heart that he understood what I was saying. “You saved his life, thank you so, so much,” I said and I think he had understood what I said; not necessarily because of the words I had said, but because of my facial expression and the tone of my voice. The man nodded and smiled. “De rien,” he replied and patted my shoulder, before exiting the room, leaving me and Ryan alone.
***
“Take it easy,” I smiled as Ryan eagerly gulped from the glass of water I had gotten him. He was sitting upright, his back resting against the headboard of the bed. We had been staying at the church for four days and Ryan was getting better and better by the minute. At the beginning, he had been weak because of the large amount of blood he had lost, but after a couple of days, he was getting less pale and he could already make a small walk around the church.
“I think we should leave this place in a couple of days,” Ryan started putting the glass of water away. “I think I’ll have my strength back in a few days, so it should be okay. We can’t stay here forever,” he told me and leant his head against mine. “I know,” I sighed, not really liking the idea of going on the road again. What if we would’ve run into another hostile soldier? What if that soldier was faster and shot one of us in the head? I didn’t want to be thinking all those things; it made me paranoid and scared.
“We’ll be more careful this time,” Ryan said as if he had been reading my mind. I nodded. I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen again. I would’ve done everything to protect Ryan. My Ryan. “We will,” I replied and pressed a small kiss against his cheek. “I love you,” I muttered and hugged him tightly. “Love you too, Brendon,” Ryan smiled, pulling back from the hug, so he could kiss me full on the lips. His tongue had immediately sneaked its way into my mouth, roughly sliding against my own tongue. It was a needy and passionate kiss and when we broke it for fresh air, we were both panting a little bit.
I smiled and he rested his head on my shoulder again. It was then that I had noticed, François, the man I had met when we had just arrived here, standing in the door frame. His eyes were wide and full off shock. I had gone bright red from embarrassment and I didn’t dare to look François into the eye. “Tu embrasses ton frère comme ça tout le temps?” he said and I had not clue what he was trying to tell us. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I spoke, cocking an eyebrow. “You kiss your frère?” he questioned, still giving us a shocked look.
“Brendon,” Ryan whispered, tugging at the sleeve of my sweater. “He thinks we’re brothers,” he told me, not able to hold back a small chuckle. “Oh…damn,” I muttered and looked back at François. “We’re not brothers,” I explained to him, hoping he would understand, otherwise, things might be a little awkward for him; more than they already were. “Pas de frères,” Ryan spoke up, completely surprising me. I hadn’t known he could speak and understand French. “Since when did you speak French?” I asked with a questioning look. “I just picked up a few things since I’ve been here in France,” he replied with a small smile. “Ah, oké, bien,” François muttered and turned around again, still looking beyond confused.