Daylight

+ 2 +

- today's been a mess, but I guess it was worth it. I got us a little something.

I hear his voice from the outside.

- Luke, please don't tell me you got another house plant.

The other guy says.

- it's nothing like that.

He answers.

- that's what you said the last time.

The other guy laughs.

- she was in his office, and managed to open the safe.

He says, opening the backseat door where I am.

- I told you.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

- when I got in that room, I didn't even know I could open that safe. God, I didn't even know there was a safe there.

I say, as the four boys stare at me intensely, as if they're trying really hard to figure out if I'm being honest or not.

They're all sitting in front of me.

- so you just randomly found it?

The guy with the colourful hair asks.

- I was looking for something important to me, but I'm pretty sure everything I found were just business related or something.

I say, looking down, then up again. I can see that Luke seems to be believing me. I'm not in that dress anymore, they took me to a room where a maid was, that turned out to be an ex nurse. She took my dress off to take care of my wound, and, of course, found the papers, and gave them to Luke and his cousins, or friends, or brothers. I still don't know who they are exactly.

- the papers you got are in very good hands now.

The black haired one says, smiling. The other blonde one seems not to be really interested in the whole interrogation thing, but seems to be the physically strongest one of all of them.

Luke's eyes shine in contrast to the light in the room, and they start leaving the room.

I look down at my body, and I feel like crying when I see the stitches I got. I'm wearing a blue sweatshirt that probably belongs to one of the boys, and just my panties underneath it.

- time to sleep.

Luke says.

- you'll get your own room. Michael will take you there.

He continues.

- go.

I follow the guy he points to, who's the one with the colourful hair. He seems so cold. I follow him out of the room and then upstairs. My tigh hurts like hell, and keeping up with his pace seems impossible right now.

- you'll be by yourself for a while.

He says, as we stop by the door.

- we'll talk whenever we need answers.

He continues, and I nod, turning around to see the room. That's when he presses his body against mine, before stabbing my waist. Ouch.

I fall to the ground in agonising pain, as he quietly closes the door and leaves. The only thing people ever told me was not to take the knife off in any situation if I ever got stabbed, but he took it off himself right after putting it in.

I'm frozen. It hurts too much to move. All I can do is sob quietly, leaning my body against the wall, to the left of the closed door. The gun wound hurts, too.

I'm still completely frozen, trying to find strength to do something, or even think of something to do somehow.

At this point there's blood all over my clothes, and start crawling my way to a door that's in the room, I'm pretty sure it leads to a bathroom or something. I decide to at least try to wash the wound or something, to try to avoid infections.

I get in the bathroom, and lean against the wall once again. My hands shake like hell.

My skin is the palest it's ever been in my entire life.

I have to find a way to stop this bleeding. Thankfully, I don't think it was too deep, because I'm pretty sure I'd be on a puddle of my own blood if he had hit something important. It doesn't bleed that much, but it's still a lot for me. I never got to this point before, ever. I open the small doors under the sink, and find some cleaning products next to a sewing kit.

Alcohol is one of the cleaning products. I take it, and take a very deep breath before opening it and throwing over the wound. It burns so much, I scream in despair.

Then, I get the sewing kit.

I pour alcohol over everything, before I take it in my hands and begin. I let out small screams and lots of tears in the process.

If you told me, five years ago, that today I'd be on a bathroom floor sewing my own stab wound someday, I'd laugh at your face. The pain is, once again, agonising. I feel like I'm about to die each time I move my hand.