The Runaway Huntress

CHAPTER 4

      The freezing cold pool of water on the floor awakened Melisca. Lips trembling, eyes blinking, studying where she is while slowly helping herself up. Just remembered what happened earlier. She turned off the shower and reached for the towel hooked beside the door and wrapped it around her. She felt much better than before, no more open wounds on her body, not even a scratch. Looking for a hair blower at least, but haven't seen any, guess she would just let her waist-length wavy hair dry itself.

     She stepped out of the bathroom, and almost tripped from her clothes sprawled on the floor, right at the doorstep. Annoyed, she picked up her jeans and searched for her phone. When she found it, she heard something of a catcall. Looking around for where the noise came from. Her eyes landed right straight ahead of her, across the building, an old man with a telescope, eyeing her. She swiftly moved and closed her terrace door and its curtain.

     "Pervert." She mumbled.

     When she turned back facing the room, she just realized her dilemma. "Oh hell, I don't have any spare clothes with me." Wanting to smack herself for being unprepared in her current state, "How exciting, he had escaped, I got shot, twice at that, and then this. Why did it end up so badly!" She let out her frustrations while walking back and forth.

     At times like this, she wishes she had someone to call to, but she works alone, lives alone, literally no one. Can't blame her, upon witnessing how a friend could kill, how a family could murder, no thanks, she'd rather live alone for the rest of her life, for all eternity as it could be, as long as she lives.

     Her hunt could have been accomplished already if only no one interrupted them. Hands on her waist, staring at the blanket on the bed, her mind is cooking something. She can still use her jeans, dried blood isn't really visible in it, her bra is good enough.

     She can no longer use her jacket and the tank top though. Cutting the straps of her bra by her knife, and then the blanket to make it as a tube, then a belt-like piece to tie around her waist. Now, only her bare shoulders and arms would be seen enough.

     She's confident with her body anyway, toned muscles, a flat abdomen, she has all the curves, a man would lust over. Her translucent skin added to her appeal that makes her vulnerable on the outside, but her dead black eyes could take her as a snob bitch. She never minds though.

     Done with her self improvised clothing, she left some money on the table, a payment for the blanket she'd ripped into her attire. Eyeing the floor, looking for her gun. She saw it under the table.

     "How to hide this thing?" Asking herself. She went back to the blanket, ripped it again and wrapped the fabric to her pistol. A makeshift handbag. Nice.

     Of all the huntings she'd done, This is the very first time she screwed up. Back to square one, investigating the last area where they had encountered. People eyeing her with funny looks, women with insulting glances, men with lustful stares.

     She sighed exasperatingly, she really needs to change to proper clothing. Aside from that, the angry glare of the afternoon sun is prickling her bare skin. Though hidden by her long hair, she's still not comfortable displaying some of her flesh. Especially when not in the mood.

     Standing at the sidewalk, taking a shed in front of an old house. She brought with her the cigarette box and a lighter, that would never be gone from her pockets anywhere she goes. Knowing lung cancer is never her concern or any other sickness and illnesses.

     As she lit a stick, she looked at her surroundings, only a few people in the streets, mostly wears a close to rug-like clothes, old automobiles entering the area, street walls covered with sloppy lettering, vandalism doesn't even fit the horrible drawings. Rusted roofs of the houses around, even in a coffee shop just across her.