Trapped (Alastor x reader) (Slow Updates)

Quarantine Time

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR CONTAMINATED?!"

You were almost certain you were going to break your teeth from how tense your jaw was "exactly what it means sir, someone sneezed on me and now I have to quarantine myself for a week" as you had already told him.

"I'M ALREADY SHORT STAFFED AS IT IS" that was a lie "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW!"

Hard to do that when your shift has already ended.

"I'm a health risk, do you want to risk me contaminating everyone?"

"You sound fine to me"

"Doesn't mean I'm safe"

"You sound fine, therefore you can work, get here now or I will fire you"

The phone clicks and you hear the sound of being disconnected. You sigh tiredly as you remove the phone from your ear and place it on the bed as if giving up. Looks like you will have to phone the doctor and ask for a note.

You would do that in a moment. You just need a few minutes of peace and quiet before you can try talking to someone again. Stupid phones. You hated using them.

And despite the sun giving you warm rays, you feel nothing but the chill from your 'incident', unable to gain back any warmth that you had previously lost.

It had been nearly 24 hours since the incident, and to be completely honest you don't remember much of that time. You don't think about it too much, you just accepted that you had a blackout and were now trying to handle existing with a temporary out-of-service arm until it fully healed.

Charlie, Vaggie, and even Angel had come into your bedroom at times to 'keep you company', Husk wouldn't set foot near your room and Nifty only came in to clean.

"Only until your better" she would say before leaving. And while it did irritate you that they would come in without permission, you were thankful that they didn't try touching anything. Well, everyone but Angel. Vaggie was an, heh, angel in disguise by coming in and taking him out when you wanted him gone.

Alastor though never set foot in your room once. Which was completely unlike him considering his, odd behavior, toward you. Maybe. It was still hard to tell. But I digress.

You finally had time to be by yourself, mainly because it was sunset now and everyone was close to retiring for the night, but you weren't allowed to get out of bed unless it was for the bathroom, for some reason your legs still wobble and shake when you stand. Vaggie theorized that it was some delayed shock or that the nerves were still recovering from the encounter.

To make matters worse, the arm that was shot was the same limb as the last bullet that hit you, it was your 'writing hand'. The bullet had penetrated through the shoulder and into your wall. You have no idea how that worked but to be honest you didn't care.

You were alive, you were in your house. You. Were. Safe. As can be anyway.

Letting out a tired sigh you look up at the ceiling above you, idly fiddling with the makeshift support thing used to keep your arm elevated. On the plus side you didn't need to worry about holding your arm should it ever begin to bleed. Right?

How long did bullet wounds heal for anyway? You would need to research it when you felt you were ready to leave your room. Later. Maybe.

Gosh you want to cry so badly right now, maybe you can trigger one later when everyone finally goes to sleep, it might help clear your head a little. Crying always helps, it was the best medicine after all. Or was that laughter?

GAH! too much thinking and not enough resting. Why couldn't it be possible to switch your brain off when you need to stop thinking? Why couldn't you stand properly? You feel so lazy laying in this bed, you felt drained sure, but not enough to want to sleep. Yet.