NB: The Girl from Hell (GirlxGirl)

Chapter 4: Underneath Everything

I’m on the floor.  It’s warm now, wet with my blood.

The searing pain is growing faint.  It still feels like a thorny vine being pulled through my shoulder, but I don’t care anymore. Everything is fading away.  I try to hold on, but I’m not sure if I can. 

Time is passing, but I can’t keep track of it.  I can’t see my watch or hear it.  The hands are move along, moving forward towards my end – tick, tick, tick, tick – but all I can hear is silence. 

I’m losing myself.  I don’t want to die, but even that’s wearing away.

I wish I could say that, in the end, all that remained was my love for Jess, but it isn’t.  I can feel it in my heart, all that’s left in me is anger.  This isn’t how things are supposed to end.  I want to kill that little fuck who shot me.  I want to get up and I want to destroy everything.

I am the fire.

As I embrace the rage, the pain comes back to me.  I’m not going to die. 

The feeling in my shoulder has changed.  It isn’t a searing pain, but a burning feeling.  It feels good.

I can hear the door open.

There are footsteps and voices.

There are at least two people.  I can almost make out what they’re saying.

The first person is a woman, but her voice is deep and raspy, like a smoker’s.  “She’s still alive, I can feel it.”

“What’s Legion thinking, leaving a mess like this?” another voice says.  I think this one’s male. 

“The problem is that they aren’t thinking,” the woman says.  “Not all of Legion are the same.  Some of them are driven by pure impulse.  And right now, they’re terrified.”

“Is this about the Sword?” the man asks.

“Yes, things are heating up.  You should both be glad that you’re too young to have seen what happened the last time the angels got their hands on it,” the woman says.

“What sword?” another voice asks.  It’s a male voice too.

“It’s none of your business, nurse boy,” the man says.  “What are you waiting for?  Check out the girl.”

I can hear the nurse kneel down beside me.  I can see him.  He’s young I think.  I want to speak, ask if I’m going to be okay, but I can’t.  I gather my energy and manage to moan. 

“Please, stay calm,” he says.

I can feel his fingers against my skin.  He gets close to my wound.  Whatever he’s doing, it hurts.  It feels like he’s playing with my injured flesh.  I want to strangle him.

“Hurry up,” the man says, “the neighbour called the police.  We can’t stall them forever.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s healing,” he says. “Right now, our biggest problem is that the flesh is healing around the bullet.  If we don’t get it out soon, we will have to cut into her all over again, and I’m not sure how well she’ll take that.  What is she?”

I should care more about that question, but right now I’m consumed by pain and anger.  I can hear the words they’re speaking, but I don’t entirely understand them.

“That isn’t any of your business,” the man says.

“If I’m going to help her, I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“She is Newborn,” the woman says.  “We don’t know anything else.  Can we move her?”

“I think so,” the nurse says.

“Okay,” the other man says.  “You two take her out of here.  I’ll clean up the blood.”

Two people lift me up.  My arm hurts when they move me.  Where are they taking me?  I try to speak, but all I can do is moan.

They start to carry me.

“Thank you for doing this,” the woman says to the nurse as if I’m not there.  “I know you didn’t have to.”

“You said that she’s one of us, that she’s Newborn, and that she needed help,” the nurse says.

“I did,” the woman answers.

“I didn’t really have a choice then, did I?”