Torture

Chapter 2

I woke up to the steady sound of beeps echoing in the room I was in.  My head was pounding and my body was achy.  The room was all white except for the purple chair in the corner of the room, which was occupied by someone who appeared to be sleeping. 

He had dark, black hair that seemed to be messed up by fingers continuously run through it.He was wearing blue jeans with a hole in the knee and a leather jacket zipped up to his chest.  A green t-shirt was visible at the bottom of his neck.  

The boy was softly snoring and as the door to the room was swiftly opened, he jolted awake and ran to the man who had entered the room.

The two began to talk, but I didn’t hear everything they said.  Something about the patient being alright and that the bullet was easy to remove from their stomach.  It was then I realized they were talking about me. 

I adjusted my body so that I was sitting up in the uncomfortable hospital bed, hoping to go unnoticed, but that didn’t work  because they both turned to me and the one who was in the chair ran over to the side of my bed.

“Why hello there, and how are we feeling today?” the other man asked me from across the room. “I am Doctor Michaelson and if there is anything you need, just let me know.”

“Uhh- alright. And my whole body is extremely achy.” I groggily replied.

“Well I will go get the nurse to bring you more pain killers, meanwhile you just relax, everything will be alright.” With that, the doctor left.

“Oh thank god you’re alright! I was so terrified that you wouldn’t come to!” The boy next to me yelled to me.

“Could you lower your voice? And who are you anyways?” I asked, realizing I still had no idea who this guy was.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Zayn, Zayn Malik- I live down the street a number of blocks away from you.  Last night I heard a gunshot and screaming so I ran through the neighborhood until I saw you on the ground and I called 911 to come help.”

Well that explains why I’m in a hospital in Seattle, and not on the street of my Tacoma neighborhood.  But one thing still puzzled me.

“Oh, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”

“Well, originally, I am from Bradford.  The accent never left when I moved here.  I moved here a few years ago with my mum-” he paused.  It seemed like he had more he wanted to tell me, but he just stopped there.

“That’s very interesting, and thank you for getting me help. It was nice meeting you, but you don’t have to stay here anymore. I’m fine now.” I said abruptly, surprising him, and he slowly left the room, looking disappointed.  I remember falling asleep thinking about what happened last night.