The Protector

XXXVI

Opening eyes that have been glued shut for a long period of time is like ripping off a piece of paper stuck down by super glue on skin. Honestly, I think a few eyelashes are no longer on my eyelids due to it. However, choosing to actually open my eyes may have been one of the stupidest things I've ever done - and I have done a lot of shit. There's a strategically placed light of a million watts right above my head, and I no longer have eyeballs - they've been burnt straight out of my head.

Seriously though, how have the guys managed to be in here for hours at a time without getting a migraine? Times like this, I wish I wasn't a werewolf, because my eye sensitivity is ridiculous. Last time I reacted like this to artificial sunbeams was at the club on my birthday. Fuck, it burns!

Twisting to get away from the electrical fire, every joint in my body cracks from being in the same position for who fucking knows how long. On the same concept, I can't feel a single part of my body apart from my brain and eyes which are throbbing from the sudden usage.

Managing to get into some sort of upright position, my arms shake from taking a lot of my weight so as to not fall back down onto the metal slab. My body is gradually learning to live again, but it sure is taking its sweet time. I feel like overcooked spaghetti, everything is limp and floppy. This is awkward.

Speaking of food, I'm famished. My stomach hurts with how empty it is, which would also explain why I have no energy. I have no vitamins, proteins, any of it - I need more nutrients than an average family to get through a single day. Therefore, going a while without it and coming back from the abyss has really left me starved. Could really do with two or three full English breakfasts, followed by a mixed grill with extra everything, then maybe a carvery. After that, I'd love a full cherry cheesecake and a banana split Sundae with chocolate brownie and cookie dough. To finish, a crate of biscuits. Shit, I really do eat a lot.

Shifting to try ridding myself of the pins and needles causing havoc all over my body, I tumble off of the table and onto the floor with a defeated huff. Today is not my day. Why is the thing so far from the floor? They should really consider the danger of rolling off of it. Though it probably isn't their first thought with it being for dead people and I am meant to be a corpse.

Looking around, many memories erupt vividly as my brain finally finishes restoring the previous data inputs. This is actually the exact same room Caleb was kept in when he first arrived here. That was an eventful time in our lives. My first full day here and I was already telling Luke what to do. Some things never change, especially when it comes to my personality and bossiness.

The only identifying factor that it was this precise room is the giant crack stemming from a fist sized dent that has been half arsed painted over. I punched it because someone was making up bullshit about myself and Pleb, such a surprise that I lost my cool. Other than that, all the care rooms are exactly the same; chilly, dull, barren. They never bothered to put any form of decoration in here due to hygiene but I think it is a stupid reason. If you're dying, the last thing you want to witness is a white washed box. Especially since the walls reflect these fucking annoying lights.

Not to mention it reeks. It stinks of antiseptic and rotting flesh. truly the worst combination ever, and impossible to wash away. However, I may be the one that smells like decay.

Tucking my nose into my arm, I take a tiny hesitant sniff. Instant gagging and spluttering. I pong of mould and decade old stale blood. I am in dire need of a shower, and a long soak in the bath. I can't prevent all the coughing from the pocket of ick surrounding me. It's ghastly. My eyes are watering from the nauseating air.

The only colour in the room is the calendar on the back of the swinging door which reads the twenty first. It's been just over a week since the whole event happened. I have been in that world for a week? Fuck. What even happened? I killed Zayn, then I think I brought Lizzy back. It seems there are still a couple of holes in my memory, not helpful.