Shadowed

XI. I'm Feeling Now

After years of waking up in a new place nearly every day, I should be used to it by now.

That being said, I still rub the sleep out of my eyes and look around, somewhat confused, before I remember I'm on the couch in the doctor's apartment. Yellow light streams from a lamp next to my head. The dull buzz of voices and a loud click when a door behind me slams closed pull me to my senses.

I yawn, clapping a hand over my mouth to stifle it, and stretch my arms. The air is filled with the distinct smell of blood, and my stomach gives a lurch when I sit up, blinking several times to clear the exhaustion from my head, and see James' body sprawled on a table.

"You're awake," comes Abby's voice from the other side of the room. I turn. She looks even more haggard than I feel— her hair is limp, tangled, and greasy with sweat, her cheeks are flushed red, and her eyes keep sliding closed every couple of seconds, like she physically can't keep herself awake.

"I'm awake," I reply, my throat raspy. I barely slept at all last night, and even now, the dead Hunter's face is still burned behind my eyes, along with Angella's words.They broke him.

Who are the Hunters? How could someone be so callous and unfeeling that they would shoot someone they were searching for? Angella knew Micah somehow, and while I don't know the full depth of her relationship with the Hunters, it's clear that they weren't enemies. Or, at least, not enemies enough to hurt each other the way they did.

I bury my head in my hands. I'm not thinking straight. Angella and James both seemed terrified of the Hunters when I told them they were coming. Of course they're enemies. And of course they were willing to hurt each other. Two dead. Two lifeless corpses, eyes blank and blood spilled everywhere. James, the scowling skeptic, tall and quiet, slow to trust. He's gone, and I barely got a chance to prove to him that I'm worthy of it.

My mind's foggy with fatigue, but I can still tell that there are pieces missing. Drew and Abby, and their quiet expertise at treating wounds. The doctor, young and tired and willing to help a bunch of weary street kids. The angry scars that cover Drew's hands, and his sudden iciness yesterday in the park. Angella, crying over the one who killed her friend, but still fearful of the Hunters. And where do I play into this? The voice whispering my name, and the girl and boy sent to find me by any means. Their terror, their flight from something. 

I'm not being told the whole truth. Not by anyone. I heard, once, that the people who are best at discovering lies are those who lie often. And I'm not offended that they're keeping things from me. I'm doing the same. My name. My secret. 

My stomach still flutters with regret when I think of those, and the foolish decision I made yesterday. 

Abby. She has more power over me than she knows.

I rub sleep from my eyes once more and stumble off of the couch towards her. Angella and Drew are both out cold on two ragged, plush chairs behind me, so I take care to stay quiet.

Abby's perched on the end of a small, creaking bed, Maya asleep beside her. As soon as I reach her side of the room, she presses a piece of toast into my hand.

"Breakfast," she informs me, her voice shaking a little—leftover nerves from last night.

I take the toast and sink onto the opposite side of the bed. It doesn't expel the dull ache of hunger in my stomach. Nothing does. But it helps.

Maya rolls over, and her face is calmer than I've ever seen it, until she leans her weight onto her other side. As she presses her bandaged leg into the bed, she winces, her face seizing up with pain that jolts her out of sleep.