The Elite

Chapter 11

*Ember's POV*

My head spins as I try to focus on one thing, dazzling white lights take over my vision and all I can taste is acid.

My stomach twists and I throw myself forwards, someone placing a hand on my upper back as I wretch into something that I believe to be a bowl.

My eyes sting and water as I empty my stomach contents not knowing as to what the hell is happening right now. Once I'm finished I decide it's probably best to lay back down again, as I lean back the hand leaves my back and a somewhat familiar voice says,

"One things for sure," he chuckles, "we know you aren't a light weight."

Trace?
Even though I've only come into contact with him a couple of times I'd recognise his voice anywhere. He makes me feel....safe.

Then it dawns on me, the room that I'm in is unfamiliar. One of the walls is totally glass and looks straight out onto the city, the rest of the walls grey. I feel around me, my fingers coming into contact with a soft fabric. A blanket?

I pull it up and unsurprisingly it's grey.
"You just took me, right?"

He nods, "admittance showed up and you were absolutely off your face, so I just picked you up and carried you out."

A wave of sadness washes over me, "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

"You'll be back home soon," he attempts to smile, "but in the mean time you need to shake this off and focus."

"How long have I been out of it for?" I ask, the thought honestly puzzling me.

Trace sits on the chair by my bed, "just a few hours, this is your room by the way. This is where you'll live."

I sit up on the bed, a sharp pain shoots straight the way through my temple. I squirm as I try to take in the appearance of the room, its relatively big the bed that I lay on is a double. A desk sits on the far left hand corner with a comfy looking chair looking out over the city, the walls a dull grey.

"Can I change this?" I frown pointing at the dark charcoal grey walls, "can I add some form of light in here?"

Trace chuckles a smirk appearing across his face, I only just notice the stubble that is there, "isn't the giant window enough for you?"

I roll my eyes, I really don't appreciate his sarky comments right now, "my walls at home are white, doesn't this depress you?"

He stands up from the chair, "there are far more depressing things in this world Ember than the colour of your bedroom walls."

Touché.

He makes his way over towards what I believe to be the wardrobe, he slides back the door to reveal a rack of black clothing. "Get changed," he instructs leaving the room, "it's dinner time."

Is he for real? I rub my stomach with the palm of my hand trying to ease the uneasiness there, the after effects of alcohol have definitely taken there toll. I don't think I can stomach dinner.

I ease myself up from the bed feeling slightly sick as I stand, I slowly make my way over to the wardrobe and pull out some of the clothes; black cargo trousers, black tank top and a black jacket. I get dressed and notice that the jacket has 'Harris' printed on the top just below my breast bone on the right hand side in bold white letters. I then notice a pair of black boots sitting on the floor, I pull them on and then brush my hair so that it looks at least half decent. I now look like I only have half of the amount of make up on that I originally applied, who is going to really care though?