loyalty | s. scola

- EIGHT

11:13PM

She comes to with a pounding headache. Which, granted, is usually how she wakes up at Riley's. But this time, it's different. Usually, she can remember most of the night before, except this time, she doesn't remember anything. She remembers Riley opening the door, and then... nothing. She remembers nothing, and then a sharp pain, followed by more nothing.

She blinks her eyes open and finds herself staring at the ceiling, vision blurry and her side aching. She takes a deep breath, back arching slightly and a whimper tearing from her lips as pain spread through her stomach. She looked down, chin resting against her chest, and finds a gash marring her skin, a tear in her shirt, and blood soaking both her and her shirt. She turns, rolling off of the couch and onto the floor beneath her. She lands harshly on her wrist, a cry falling from her at the injury. She rests her forehead on the ground beneath her, her shoulders shaking with the force of the tears that build behind her eyes.

She pushes herself to her knees, and the floor is sticky, the television is still on, and the room is dark. She leans back on her heels, looking down at her hand in confusion. Wet, thick, and warm blood coat her fingers. She brings her other hand to the side of her face, finding a gash running down her forehead, starting at the end of her left eyebrow and going up to her hairline. The wound is still raised and bleeding, throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

"What the fuck?" she breathed, looking around. What the hell did Riley do to her? She stands, grabbing at the table to brace herself. The blood coating her hands makes it impossible to get a grip and she slips again, banging her elbow onto the floor.

"Fuck!" She cradles her arm, tears flooding her eyes again, both because of the pain and her fear. She takes a breath and grabs the edge of the table, and tries again. This time, she makes it to her feet and though her stance is wobbly, she stays standing. Her phone is nowhere to be found, not on the table or in any of her pockets. She limps to the kitchen, leaving bloody hand prints on the counter, and makes it to the landline that Riley keeps on it. She shakily picks it up and dials 9-1-1. Nobody answers. The chord is cut. In frustration, she slams the phone back down onto the receiver.

She never should have come here in the first place. She should have stayed at Ava with Deeks. She leans against the counter, tears falling down her cheeks and creating voids in the blood that stains her face. She presses her forehead to her arm, giving herself a few moments to cry.

An ugly sob rips from her once, and she stands, upright, not even bothering to wipe the tears off her face. She sniffles and turns around. Just beyond the coffee table, a few feet away from where she had been laying, was Riley.

"Oh my god," she falls to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she stares at him. He's dead, laying in a pool of her own blood. His nose is broken, his face is bruised and beaten and bloody, and his eyes are staring up at the ceiling. Her bottom lip wobbles, grief for her friend flooding her. There's a number of stab wounds on his body that she's only ever seen in the horror movies, and the knife sat buried to the hilt in his chest. He might have been a criminal, and he might've been an asshole and a creep, but he was her friend. One of her only ones.

And now he was dead.

A loud thud interrupts her crying. Her head whips to the right, her eyes wide and panic swimming in her eyes. She absently, runs a hand over her chest, struggling to take a full breath. Isa squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. Now was not the time for a panic attack.

Another thud sounds, and Isa doesn't even think about it, she just grabs the handle of the knife and pulls it out of Riley. The lights are on in the very back room, Riley's room. Blood drips down the blade of the knife as she grips it tighter, limping down the hall. A shadow falls across the floor of the door. She squints, struggling to see in the dark apartment.