Nebula

Turning Over - Part 2

"I need your help on the Presley." I shook my head and my reflection followed. That didn't sound right, like I was ordering her.

"Ty." I stared into my eyes. "I need your help. Come with me."

Nope, I was begging there. I needed her help, but I didn't want to make it seem like this was my only option. Of course it was, but I was a proud little bitch. There was no way that I was going to make it sound like I was needy or that I missed her.

"Come on, Ty. I need your help on the Presley."

You're ordering her again. What happened to that friend she trusted?

"Ty. Help me, please."

Begging. Come on, you can do better than that.

"Ty-"

It took a smack of the door before it burst through, falling and landing loudly on the rented room floor. I turned and saw them, two guys, really big, really angry and they had me in their sights.

I swore and ran to the bedroom, thinking of the gun, of my gun, of the gun. Gun, gun, gun! I grabbed the pistol, it was old and rusty but good enough and I turned and shot but missed very badly. The wall fell onto a guy's head, then he swore and I pretended that was obviously my intention.

The other one was smarter and held another object in his hand, I tried to shuffle away under the bed, but I had no chance to get there fast enough. I should've shot, why didn't I shoot the damn gun when I had the chance?

There was a loud and annoying buzz and I made a really embarrassingly weird noise as the tazer stuck into my back and jolted electricity through my bones. Everything was bright and exploded before he easily threw a bag over my head and dragged me away.

****

I was weak, I was jet lagged and I had been tazed pretty effectively. If Anchor was a gorilla, then those guys were King Kong impersonators. With no combat training except in some rough pub brawls, how would anyone fair against two thugs like that?

And they weren't your standard thugs, either. Those guys were bounty hunters. Small time ones, granted, but still hard-core enough to thoroughly kick my arse. I managed to get out of the daze later on and then I put up a pretty good fight, but I was down in a few hits with a bloody nose and a cut lip. So yeah, I didn't get away too good. The injuries only got more annoying as the days went by, but at the time I was too furious to care.

I was literally thrown into a chair - leather straps tied to my hands and ankles at the bottom of a pretty stiff metal seat. It looked like one from a scary political show they showed a while back to put people in their place. I was four, maybe five at the time. So watching it meant that my parents had bruises where I'd tightened my small hands on their skin.

And who was my interrogator for this evening? Well, ladies and gentlemen, it was none other than our favourite neighbourhood psychopath, Anchor!

"Well there she is." He smiled, stalking the room like he was a fucking lion. God, his ego was big. "The little favourite that Goodcat sent along with my stuff. The cute little cutie pie puppy. You got anythin' to say?"

Each word was spat. I know this because the saliva was falling in my eyes and made me wonder if thugs like him got a dental plan; the lisp wasn't helping much either. It was something that kept me off the threatening gazes, dark room, bright light and pretty well muscled prick that had me in his sights. Yeah, I was scared. In fact I was downright shitting myself because I had nowhere to go and no backup that would be willing to save me.

The last thing I expected to do in that situation was looking up into those soulless eyes of his and saying: "you're a world class shitbag."

I got a few hits for that, right in the gut. I would've sworn that bones snapped, but in reality I was over-exaggerating. They still hurt pretty badly, bones broken or not.