@heygutlcss sent: five times healed: ( five times the receiver nursed the sender back to health, or tended to their wounds ) ( for riff)
she doesn’t know what happened, only that when she met him at the dock there’s bruises & cuts that weren’t there before. still somewhat bloody. nowhere near to being fully healed. johanna still hasn’t asked. silence hangs in the air as she wets a cloth, dabbing it lightly to clean the blood away. she hopes it wasn’t a fight. not another one. perhaps, something happened on the ship. despite being surrounded by sailors in a port city & married to one, she doesn’t know much about life onboard a ship. though, she supposes they don’t have anything to treat people with aside from alcohol. the sight of blood makes her stomach turn with memories of the asylum. the first time he came home from a fight, a stream of blood falling down his head, she had to look away. it was too awful. this time, johanna doesn’t scold him. she doesn’t know the story. she just silently wraps a bandage around his finger.
❝ ice? is that what we do? ice? ❞ she’s nearly pleading as she frantically runs up to him. from the corner of her eye, johanna could see him helping light the lanterns as she gathered in a group with the other ladies on the farm. knowing her less than ideal skills as a cook, they’ve allowed her to stand with them even if she can’t contribute at all. but she ran to riff, taking his wrist to allow her to see the burn. throughout the months of their marriage, johanna’s learned how to somewhat treat cuts & bloody wounds. not burns. she’s handed a basin or jar or something containing water. without a second though, she dumbs it over his hand. johanna barely realizes how the water splashed onto her sleeve or how cold it was. ❝ come on, let’s get ice or . . . something. ❞
he’s been sick before, but it still scares her. it started last night. johanna sleeps lightly & there’s little he could do to hide something like that from her in the first place. she stayed up with him, a hand on his back or shoulder or neck. trying to convince him to lay down. when she got up to go to work, johanna told him that he wasn’t working today. nor was he going to follow her around. he was too sick for that. though, she missed him. instead of glancing up & seeing him wipe his tired eyes, johanna listened in on the conversation about how everyone was getting sick this time of the year. she hates this sickness. it took her husband away from her this morning. it’s a day of missed work & while she worries about money, she couldn’t let him. when she gets home, johanna finds an extra blanket buried underneath their bed. in her half-asleep haste, it was one she had forgotten about. it’s laid on top of riff as she joins him in bed. a hand on his forehead to make sure he doesn’t get too hot. perhaps later she might look for some soup or tea for when he’s feeling good enough. for now, she doesn’t leave his side.
sometimes she worries that he might fall over their loft. that it might get him killed. but as johanna presses the rag against his face, dripping with ice-cold water, she wishes he had fallen over that gap or off the latter. it was a better alternative than what there is now. ❝ just because . . . ❞ her voice is strained. too overcome with her frustration to finish the sentence. johanna doesn’t shout or scream like he does, but she can go deadly quiet. this is breaking the vow of silence. ‘ just because a man flirts with me doesn’t mean you have to throw a fist in his face. ’ blood mixes with water as it runs down his cheek. sighing, johanna drops the rag back in the basin. they were at the library. she hadn’t even noticed the man there, saying those things to her. otherwise, she might have blushed. she only understood parts of what happened when she saw her husband’s hand in his face. she lifts the rag back up to his face before he can try to clean himself up. the memories of him throwing his own bloodied water in his face are far from faint. ❝ i don’t want you getting in anymore fights. it makes me upset. ❞ she stands, tilting his chin so he looks up at her. johanna dabs away at the damage done. ❝ i worry about you. ❞ the words are gentle & soft-spoken. she does. she always worries.
johanna winces looking at his arm. she’s never seen anything so red or inflamed. ❝ do you think it’s a sprain? ❞ it’s not just a bump, that’s for certain. the idea of a sprain makes her grimace a bit more. anything to do with bones, she hates. or blood. but she’s gotten used to blood with how many times riff has come home bleeding. bones are fragile. breaking one could put him out of work for weeks. months. the limb might not even heal properly. a sprain is close to a break. not quite one, but it makes her feel a little darker inside. like a shadow being cast over a moon. all she has is a small chunk of ice stolen from one of the ladies who was celebrating the beginning of summertime by making some sort of beverage & a rag that barely covers the length of the swelling. ❝ what happened again? this might be something, well, we have to call a doctor for. i don’t say that lightly, you know. ❞ she hates doctors. she doesn’t trust them. ❝ let’s at least elevate it for now, alright? someone said that might help. ❞
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