Hunted

Chapter Eleven

I woke up needing to pee.

Eyes creeping open, panic immediately assaulted my senses— my body going stock still at the new surroundings. Judging from the metal instruments attached to the wall, the doctor had made good on the threat of hospitalization. Not daring to move, I let my gaze cast over the rest of the room. Stark white paint clashed with the orange sunlight flitting in through a cracked window— casting dark shadows over the paneled surface and down the grey tinged cabinets.

Next, I let my attention journey down. An IV bag with several tubes and two containers of liquid sat toward my right, the tubes passing through the metal rails of the bed and to a needle taped against my hand. The skin surrounding the injection site was bruised— a mauve disfiguration that coasted most of my wrist. The ugly, puce green color of the hospital gown I'd been changed into during my slumber didn't help brighten its appearance.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, I tried to sit up.

The clang of metal against metal stopped me in my tracks.

Handcuffs. Closing my eyes to fight off the bile building in my throat, I tried to ignore the metal cuff attached to my left wrist. But now that I'd seen it— the panic I'd been struggling to subdue surged forth with a vengeance. It made my chest cave in, each inhale rapidly becoming painful as fear and betrayal mixed noxiously within the cavern of my heart.

They'd lied.

They were supposed to be the good guys— they were supposed to help me.

Tears clouded my vision as the panic grew out of control. Tearing at the cuff, I yanked my wrist against the sturdy metal— the frenzied bang echoing through the empty room as I hysterically wrestled against the binding. Before I could catch myself, a feral shriek exploded out of my throat as panic bled into mania.

Figures draped in white burst into the room. Without giving me time to blink, their hands descended onto my shoulders— holding me down as a familiar face snuck by and smiled at me. His lit cigarette was perched between his lips, weathered face sneering down at me as he hoisted a deadly looking needle toward my throat. Blood coated his forehead— the damage from the rock I'd smashed against his head dripping down his furry brows and the sharp jut of his bruised cheek.

"Careful, sweetheart," my kidnapper snickered, "This'll hurt."

The needle met skin and I screamed.

"Fucking fuck! Doc!"

Throwing my hand out, I tried to shove the ghost of my kidnapper away, screaming ratcheting up a notch when flesh met flesh. As I struggled against the binding holding me down, another curse reverberated through my panicked fumbling. Hands fell on my shoulders, but it did more harm than good. Tears still clouding my vision, I frantically threw myself against the bed— trying and failing to remove the phantom pain of metal digging into my skin as my throat caught on my shout.

"Sang!" A firm hand grabbed my arm, holding it steady against my hysterical fumbling, "Sang, you're okay!"

Haunted by the vision I'd just escaped, panic overtook rationality, and I threw my hand out— nails scrapping against flesh as whoever grabbed me jerked back, a pained grunt escaping at the violence. Eyes flying wide at the sound, I caught sight of three figures surrounding me. None of them wore the white cloaks from by dream, but I couldn't stop— the fear was too much.

The closest one to the door threw it open as he yelled down the hall, "Doc! We need help here!"

Ripping my hand away from them, I scrapped at the IV attached to my arm. It was too familiar— to close to the nightmare I'd escaped from. Another set of hands grabbed at me even as I floundered away from them. Brown eyes, the one closest to my face, sported a tentative smile. His blonde hair was a mess. The pretty long strands were tangled near his face like he'd barely escaped a fight, but his eyes were earnest.