I'm Not An Angel

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When I open my eyes, I see pink. Endless, Pepto-Bismol pink. The color so many little girls and women alike seem to adore. I doubt highly they'd adore it so much if they knew what it stood for. You can get on the internet and find "meanings" for colors, but honestly, those are just speculation and lies. I know the real meaning of pink, and it's not fun. Pink stands for pain.

I close my eyes and lay there for a few minutes. This has to be some kind of weird dream that I'm having a bit of trouble waking up from. I slowly open my eyes again and look around. Still pink. I glance to my side and sure enough, that is most definitely not my nightstand. Fuck. Where the hell am I?

I push myself up to a sitting position, glance around, and listen. I'm not sure what I'm expecting to hear, but the shuffling sounds in the hall definitely aren't it. Slipping off the bed, I creep towards the door, shuddering at the thought of touching the pink walls. Yeah, I have an aversion to pink, just like I used to have an aversion to yellow. The door starts to open. A head of dark hair pokes through the door and hisses out a name. "Devin!"

I start. My name is most certainly not Devin. Which means this guy isn't looking for me. But he might know why the fuck I'm here, so I decide to speak up. "There's no Devin here!"

"I saw him come in here." Dark hair answers. "Devin, show yourself!"

I watch in fascination as a man, no more than 24 or 25 years old, materializes in front of me. "I'm Devin." He says softly.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Dark hair comes fully into the room and growls. "Chris will be furious if he finds out you're sneaking around in here."

"Chris told me to check on our guest." Devin murmurs. I wonder briefly if he is always this quiet. Of course, I also wonder what the hell is with him appearing out of thin air as well. And who the hell is Chris? But right now, I really want to know why the fuck I just woke up in a pink bedroom when I went to sleep in a burgundy and black room – my bedroom to be specific.

"Your guest? I assume you're speaking of me?" I glare at the men in front of me. Devin has black hair, a bit scruff, and just generally seems like he wouldn't be as quiet as he is. No-name has black hair and a couple of lip piercings. Oh, and blue eyes. And damn if they don't seem vaguely familiar.

"Yes." Devin states. Damn it, he speaks almost too quiet to hear. "You'll find you are not a prisoner here – well, you might consider yourself so, but we do not. While you are not free to leave the mansion without supervision, you are permitted to roam inside as you wish, with the exception of the north wing. No one is permitted to go there."

"Exactly why am I here?" I ask. "And while I'm at it, what is your name?" I decide to try being polite to them to see if it will make a difference. No-name looks to Devin and back to me.

"My name is Ricky. You're here because we need you." He states simply. "We need you to fix Devin."

************

Author's Note: I named the chapters after the song that was playing when I started the chapter.

Title: I'm Not An Angel - Halestorm


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