Of The Wolves And The Orphans

A Waiting Game

Oblivion, again. If this is going to become a regular thing with me, I might go insane. This oblivion is worse though. I can feel whatever they are doing to me, and I know I don't like it. I start to resurface and find myself staring at the blinding, sterile, hospital lights above me. From the hard slab of steel that I'm lying on, I know that I'm on the operating table. I probably screwed up some injury again with my outburst, but I pray that they can't save me. This is oddly familiar. The last time I was on an operating table...

Don't go there Keira, I warn myself.

They notice that I'm awake and I feel some cold liquid being shot into my arm while they speak supposedly soothing words that make no sense. Of course I'm not ok, like they keep saying. I'm on a damn operating table for crying out loud! And I'm not stupid either. They probably think I'm mentally disoriented (a nice way to say crazy) and suicidal, but I don't care. Maybe, if I act crazy enough, they'll think I'm too hopeless for any job they had in mind, especially an assassin.

I keep resurfacing about five times, each time screaming at the top of my lunges in pain. Whatever they are doing hurts like hell all over my body. I feel like all my nerves are in a searing fire. I scream, even when I'm unconscious. I know because even in the darkness that overcomes me, the only sound is that of my own anguish.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the pain eases completely, leaving calm after the storm in its wake. I finally slip away and lose myself in the drugs.

Once again, I sense the all too familiar feeling of resurfacing from the drugs. My senses return and I slowly allow my eyes to flicker open. I know where I am this time and am not nearly as disoriented, though I feel remarkably tired. I'm not ready to face my fate just yet.

Just a little bit longer, please! Just a little longer, I beg in my mind to no one in particular. I feel, or rather a sense, someone staring at me, forcing me to reluctantly open my eyes, which I shut again almost immediately with a groan. Everything in my body hurts excruciatingly.

"Kid, you're going to be ok," a voice says next to me. I don't even have to think before knowing who it is. It's that woman from earlier.

My eyes fly open and I jerk forward, trying to get away like last time, this time it turns out a lot more painful. I band across my chest jolts me to a painful stop and I fall back, groaning. I just lie there, trying to get my breath back through my constricted lungs and fighting off the tears that swell in my eye from the pain in my abdomen. I don't remember it last time I woke up officially, so maybe that was what they were working on. Either way, all I know is it hurts like hell.

I instinctively curl up on myself to relive the pain, but I find something resisting at my ankles. Making the huge effort of raising my head, I check to see what is restraining me and find myself shackled to a hospital bed. I blink, trying to blink this situation away, but it stays. I must look pretty comical just staring and blinking, but I don't see anything funny about it. I just stare dumbfounded. Restraint bands are around my ankles, right below my chest, and on my wrists. I'm in a skimpy hospital gown that makes me feel vulnerable and exposed. I don't like it one bit.

Then my instincts kick in.

I pull everything in, making a desperate attempt to get out of my bonds. I can feel the panic well in my throat that is a shriek, making its way from my chest to my throat and slowly to my vocal cords. I try to suppress it, but I know the longer I try to bigger it gets. I can feel it turning into a scream.

The heart monitor beeps erratically, showing the racing pace of my heart as it spikes in sheer panic. I struggle, yank, and wrench viciously at my bonds causing every wound I have to scream in objection.