Blurry.
Everything is blurry.
There’s one bed with springs in the corner. It has white sheets, with a heavy gray quilt. They could at least put a pillow on the bed, I think with a wave of OCD. They could’ve put me in the bed! My back hurts from this stupid gray, cold concrete floor. I punch the floor angrily. Splitting pain erupts in my hand and slowly up my arm.
Now that my brain is working, I realized I have no idea where I am. Slowly surveying the room, I see the last thing I saw before I blacked out. The boy in the black hoodie. Was I in the hospital? No, I couldn’t be. If I was why would I be on the floor? He starts walking towards me; I crawl as far away from his as I can. If he knocked me out before who says he won’t again?
"I don’t bite" he says calmly.
He comes closer but I’m up against a wall. Literally. There is no way to escape. He comes closer, close enough I can see his features. He has bright blue eyes; a strong jaw that any normal girl would die for her boyfriend to have; dark brown hair long, but not too long, just enough to fall above his eyes; tall, he’s maybe about 6’2". I’ve always been known as really tall, being 5’9" is a struggle considering the average height for a girl in high school is 5’6". He looked strong, but skinny, which is good so if he tries anything I have a fighting chance.
"Ya, you don’t bite but you do knock people out" I whisper bitterly. He slowly put his hand out.
"Come with me for a minute." He mutters, I think he was hurt by what I said a minute ago. I slowly find myself putting my hand in his. He helps me up, way faster than I thought possible.
"My name is Whiteland, James Whiteland." He says nervously.
"Oh, I thought it went ‘Hello I’m Bond, James Bond’ I think you should try again." I say very sarcastically. He laughs, probably heard that joke a million times.
"What’s your name?" James asks curiously.
"Brown, Amber Brown."
I just realized where we were going, I barely noticed him opening the millions of locks on the door of the room I was in. We started walking down a long corridor. It was probably the most depressing hall in the world. The walls, floor and ceiling are a dark gray color. The whole hall is flooded with blinding florescent lighting.
"Shouldn’t you already know my name?" I question, breaking the awkward silence.
"Just making sure you remember your name." he recites he must have done this a million times. That quite frankly scares me a little more than I think it should. "Why am I here?" that was the million dollar question and I wanted the answer as soon as possible. "We have to see if you’re like us." James says sounding bored.
"What do you mean like ‘us’?"
"Angels."
"Oh no, you can’t be. I can’t be. I’m sorry but I think you have the wrong girl. Angels are supposed to be pale and have blonde hair."
I was the opposite of that, a tan girl with light brown hair I’m not exactly angel material, by any standard.
"Stereotypes aren’t always what they seem, and are mostly never right." he retorts.
James opens a big steel bolted door and lets me go in first. What a ‘gentlemen’. In the room is a big opaque black glass looking mirror. It is my guess it’s one of those one way mirror things police use. I look at my reflection. My hair is falling out from its bun; my makeup is smeared leaving black rings under my eyes. I looked like the after picture of a drunken person, someone trying to survive the hangover stage. I sigh. A hot guy gets to see me looking like a complete floozy.
There’s one big metal smooth table in the middle of the room. One big florescent light is hanging over the table. The whole room is gray which helps give it this unsettling damp feeling.
I pull a chair out from under the table and James sits in the chair across from mine. He slides a folder towards me. It’s a gray file folder.
"Is everything freaking gray here!?" I yell frustrated "At least pick a better color."
"Not quite everything, you’ll grow used to it," James replies "now open up the folder."
Printed on the top of the folder is my name ‘AMBER BROWN’. Now isn’t that just dandy? I laugh in my head at my own weirdness. In the folder is a pile of documents. There is one on my house that burned down, that killed my parents, and broke my family apart. It looks like a secret police report. I read on and see one word. Arson. Could someone really have burnt down my house on purpose?
