𝘀𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘀. owen grady

⟩ 23

 Motivation ⤵

I hissed, grasping the chair tightly. My knuckles turned a ghostly white, teeth clamping together. 

''Almost done, power through.'' His voice reached my ears, banged around in my head for a moment before a deciphered them.

From Main Street, Owen was able to help us escape by use of a Jeep. More Pterodactyl's had taken over the main entrance of the Park, leaving us to flee away from where the boats were. The island was quickly loosing its staff, members and visitors. 

The kids were safely reunited with their Aunt, Claire, who decided to stick with Grady for the rest of the ordeal. I don't blame any of them, I also stayed with him. He drove us quickly to the Raptor Paddock, which did not take long whatsoever. His foot never let off the pedal and we weren't far from the hidden paddock. 

Not even parked, we had spotted something wrong with the Raptor Paddock. Personally, I've never seen the guy, but he looks like a dickhead. Owens fingers instantly tightened around the wheel, before he make a crude comment and left the car, slamming the door closed and shifting the weight of the whole jeep. 

Of course, we all followed close after. 

His name is Hoskins. When Owen announced his presence to the other, Hoskins simply laughed joyously like a storming Grady wasn't about ready to punch his nose in. He did, anyway. 

Now, Hoskins sits outside at the Paddock with the rest of the Raptor staff while Owen and I sit in a tent beside the parked vehicles. My shoulder is finally getting some proper care; as proper as we had on the island, anyway. 

My teeth grit even more. ''I have been powering through this whole time, Grady. The... kids — gah — they shouldn't even be here.'' 

Owen hummed, focusing hard on my shoulder.

''What is that thing, anyway?'' I mutter, eyeing him from my peripheral. ''And where's Masrani? He's doing something about it, right?'' My words are split apart by short time spans, which consists of heavy breathing and small, muttered 'owie's. 

I still wait for his answer, watching as he hunches over slightly to get a better view of my shoulder. No extra lights are provided in the tent, leaving it a dark hue inside. I can barely make out all the small details of his facials or his arms. They were coated in a dried substance, mud, most likely. 

When the string pulled again by his hand, I jerked my head back down to the top of the chair, banging my forehead against the back of my hands. Owen stood, looking over me. Even with my sight limited, I could make out his stare. I didn't need to see that he was staring when I could feel it burning holes. 

He asked down, nearly exhausted. ''You've never had stitches before?'' Then he turned around, scrounging around for the scissors and wherever he placed them.

''I have!'' I defended. ''Just not this conscious.''

''You'll live.'' 

''Every time someone says that, I nearly die.'' I pull the shirt back over my shoulder once the string is cut, relieved that it's finally over. I never liked stitches. ''Nearly died the first time, too.''

Owen gave a sort of chuckle, back turned towards me. His shoulder blades prominent through the leather. ''And when was that?''

''Many years ago. Dog bite by a Rottweiler to the face.'' I continued to sit on the chair, crossing one arm over the other. My mind raced back to the memory, a morbid memory. I couldn't remember what happened between the dog bite and the hospital. ''I remember seeing the teeth. Like a.. nostalgic flash; a bad one. Just pearly whites and down the throat. I can't remember the pain that I felt. I can't remember feeling any.''