(Continued from here)
Mister Smith was sitting up in bed. It had hurt like hell but he finally managed it with help from Samual who carefully propped up against the headboard with soft pillows. His chest was still tightly wrapped in bandages and probably would be for some time to come. But there was progress. It didn't hurt to breath quite as much and he couldn't feel his heart lurch in his breast every five minutes or so.
He was healing much faster than was possible for a mortal. By all rights he should be dead several times over. Any one of the wounds he suffered would have killed a normal man outright. Irrefutible evidence that forced him to finally admit what Bliss and Aille had been telling him was true. The golden apple
he'd eaten had the power to bestow immortality and had done exactly that -- to him.
Unfortunately, the fact that he'd survived these mortal wounds didn't mean that he was out of the proverbial dog house. It seemed that everyone in the temple was quietly angry with him, and that hurt more deeply than the physical injuries. He would have preferred that they all yell, scream, shout, or throw things instead of their mute disapproval. He hadn't gone out of his way to get hurt. It wasn't as if he deliberately tried to jump in front of bullets or crossbow bolts. He didn't have a martyr complex and he never wanted to be the cause of their fear or worry for him. Yet somehow he always managed to succeed in doing just that. I don't deserve them
, he thought sadly. How would he ever make it up to them? Could
he ever make it up to them?
"Are you sleeping?" asked Rose, peeking through the doorway.
"Sound asleep," he assured her solemnly.
"No you're not. Your eyes are open."
"They are?" He blinked at her. "Why, so they are! Or maybe I'm really asleep and having a very nice dream about a very pretty young lady."( Read more... )