Achlys
When I woke up, I was in a hospital. I had bandages wrapped around my midsection, arms, and legs. One of the first things I noticed was that I was alone. Wasn't my family supposed to be here? Or maybe nurses or doctors, checking to make sure I was still alive?
Just then, the door opened, and a stern-faced female nurse came in, followed by the boy who saved me. "What is he doing here?" I demanded. "I don't know him."
"He brought you in," the nurse said, frowning slightly. "He saved your life. You could try being a bit more grateful."
"I don't need to be grateful towards him," I snapped. "Nor do I want to. He should have let me die."
"Achlys," the boy said. His voice was soft, somewhat musical, his brown hair flopping down into his eyes. And his eyes, such a color I've never seen! A green that I'd only seen in a box of crayons. I can't think there's a color to describe it. I'd never taken the moment to think of how he'd known my name. "You don't really mean that. I'm Trevor, by the way."
"Don't talk to me," I said to him. I looked at the nurse. "How long until I get out of here?"
She didn't answer me, nor did the boy, Trevor, say anything else. She bustled around efficiently, checking under my bandages, changing them. She left without saying another word, leaving me alone with him.
I turned on the TV, looked out the window, out into the hall, everywhere but at him. I didn't want to see him, I didn't want to be here, I didn't want to be alive.
As far as I'm concerned, Trevor might as well have sent me directly to prison. My life was a prison, and by dying I had a way to get out. Him saving me extended my sentence, extended my suffering. If he's going to make me suffer, I thought. Why shouldn't he?
