Fast Lane (G/t)

5

 Despite her less than lovely slip into unconsciousness, Ainsley awakened peacefully with nearly no trouble. However, when she tried to get up, it didn't take long to understand the issues surrounding her. For one, she found herself damp - her dress sticking to her skin like a sausage casing. She was aware of the heat that the candle was emanating next to her and the warmth-absorbing mattress of sorts under her, but it wasn't her sweat that coated her like she first assumed. It was much worse. If only she had taken Cora's advice seriously. She was told not to overexert herself, and now Ainsley's previously healing cuts were leaking again, even the minute ones even she wasn't aware of, spread across her body, and then some. The girl realized that fact when she attempted to peel the fabric off herself to take a look at the damage. Attempted. She somehow managed to lift her back off the cushioned surface, which was a feat in itself; however, moving her arms and legs was not so simple. She felt as if a giant weight had been dropped on her, with others pulling her in all directions. There were too many events during that day for her to nail down exactly which one caused her current wear and tear, and she truly didn't care, either. It was bad, and she was in pain. 

"Oh my god. Oh. My. God." Ainsley thought to herself, puzzled and struggled out of her wits. "I seriously can't even... anything! My body's totally being a bitch right now, I'm wet as heck (not in that way - OMG), and I can't even fix it! Plus, there's the fact that some guy was after me earlier, trying to end me or something. The last thing I remember is getting ambushed by that guy... Preston. Was that really him? I... I think so, but he just wasn't what I had expected. Is that a good thing? Is it a bad thing!? I don't know! I-! Wait, where am I?"

Ainsley's inner freak-out halted temporarily when she gazed at her surroundings... well, some of it, anyway. Most of her confusion rose from her looking up at the unfamiliar wooden sky / ceiling above. She didn't remember going inside anywhere - only beach, cars, and a parking lot came to mind... and the giants that scampered around it. Speaking of which, she vaguely remembered hearing voices, all around her before everything just faded out. 

"Then, someone's gotta be around, right? I had to get here somehow... wherever 'here' is." 

In slight fear of what or who she may find, yet more worried about her personal health than anything, she took a deep breath and looked around. For the most part, aside from evenly-spaced wooden posts, she saw the sandy beaches again, except they were in full darkness now... and full of people. And then, she saw a box to her side. A large, plastic box... and an even larger, familiar person behind it.

"How long have I been here? And, is that-? How long has he been here? I can't even run... and he could be a threat! He did have a freaking hammer, and I'm not in a condition to run away. Heck, in this freaking dress, I can't even move. Seriously, it's stuck. I'mma have to do something rash, aren't I? Crap."

Although he wasn't aware of the exact period of time, Preston knew that a good amount had passed. His body was beginning to ache from his still position, and he had long broken his Tetris record on his phone a while ago and was still going. In fact, he was in such a rush and deep focus that he felt nothing would be able to knock him down. Well, except maybe a few things, but it wasn't like something was going to happen anytime so-

"Uh... excuse me?"

Of all distractions or problematic scenarios Preston envisioned would come to him, the least likely yet most wanted of them all came out of nowhere. A quiet, singsong voice reached his ears, injecting a chill down his spine. He paused his game, slowly put his phone on the bench, next to him, and relaxed (barely) to look up... and then back down to gaze at the previously laid out and unconscious lady. His heart wretched at the sight of her. On one hand, she was alive, awake, and obviously able to communicate. Yet, on the other hand, she looked like a broken, porcelain figure - sickly, pained. He did notice the shallow puddle that had collected under the fragile female and how she had made her way out of her napkin wrap since her transfer to his thicker top layer, but he didn't put more thought into it than that.