Fighter Chick

Ch 36--Like I Had A Fucking Clue

Roxy's POV

"Crap crap crap crap crap crap" I whisper to myself as my feet touch the icy, hospital floors. Would it kill them to turn the heat on?

Ripping off the wires, and carefully removing my IV strand, I stand in the middle of my room, dumbfounded. I can't just walk out of here in a hospital gown.

Clothes. I need real clothes and fast. But how? I dont even know where I am!

I take in the bare room. White walls, a chair in the corner, a window, some cabnits, and two different different doors. I decide to check the cabnits, because why the hell not. The first three are locked, but the fourth opens with ease. In vacuum sealed bags, are articles of clothes. I rip open one to find the smallest pair of jeans I'd ever seen. "What?" I whisper to myself. Gotta hurry. I flip the packaging over to find a small sticker, saying "Boy Age Newborn"

I start to tear through the bags, nearly crying in relief when I find a shirt and pants my size.

Or what I thought was my size. When I pull my pants they nearly tear in half. Fuck. I carefully peel my gown off, wincing with every movement. I glance down at my bare chest, grimincing at the giant horizontal cut across my stomach. Bye bye bikinis, I guess. I slip on the skin tight, ripped shirt, groaning at how stripper-y I feel. All I need are some heels and makeup and I'm set.

I hear voices stop outside my door and I freeze. Time to go, now. The voices pass and I breath a sigh of relief, turning on my heel towards the window. Lifting up the blinds, I curled my hand up into a ball. Third story. Screw everything. I unmatched the window with a click just as the doctors voice stopped outside my door. I lifted the window, only to be punched by the chilly air. I quickly shimmied through the hole and shut the window. Okay okay I got this. I step down, finding a foot hold in the rock.

I'm a fighter, I'm not up for this new age spy shit.

I continue down the side of the hospital, my stomach screaming at me to stop. But onwards I went.

At one point, I stop next to a second floor window, catching my breath, when I look over to find a girl staring at me from the window. Chuncks of her hair had been ripped out and she had slashes across her face, like claw marks. One eye was completely red, no white showing, while the other was calculating. Her breaths are laboured, so much I think she should be on a ventilator. She opens the window and leans out.

"Are you okay?" I whisper, shivering.

She lets out a laugh. "Shouldnt I be asking you that?" She asks, her voice more mature then her age shows.

"I don't know," I answer.

"Are you the runaway? The one everyone's looking for?" She questions, leaning her elbows on the window sill.

"Um. No?"

"Um. I think so" She laughs and starts to cough. "Aw shit"

"Hey, language." I respond automatically. "Eh, sorry."

She shrugs. "S'Okay. I get it a lot, people think I'm really young, but I'm not. I'm 16."

I glance at her slim, small figure and delicate hands. She looks 11 at most.

"Do you, uh, wanna come in? They've already checked my room, you can catch a break." She offers. I look longingly at her sparse room, much warmer then the outside. I glance at her again only to notice she has a tear of blood running down her cheek.

"I can't" I decline. "You need help though. Get a doctor, please." I plead.

She rolls her eyes, causing another avolanche of blood. She merely wipes it off with her hand. "I would if I could, but they're all looking for you." She leans on the window sill, intrigued. "Why you?"