Awoken

Chapter II

"Help, I lost myself again..." -Billie Eilish

Proxima Centauri: n. The closest star the Earth's Sun-- 4.2 light years (24.94 trillion miles) away.

Song: Darkness Keeps Chasing Me, Grace VanderWaal

...

"Noemi, if she Wakes I'm killing her."

A voice, that of a man but not quite, as if a young boy was hiding inside the body of a man, catches my ears. My brain slowly flicks on but I can't move, can't open my eyes. Everything hurts.

A new voice in a much higher register, a sweet, sort of girly voice in a pleading but sure tone, replaces the first one.

"She won't."

I struggle to open my eyes, my brain now in full gear and panicking. A memory rolls in, some house that I don't know, a monster, the walls falling-- I was looking for... someone... wait, did he say kill someone? Me? I still can't move but try anyway, even just a twitch of my finger. I finally, with much effort, produce a strangled sort of a groan.

"She's-" The higher voice halts, cut off by the lower one. "Noemi, out."

"But-"

"Now!" The sound of metal, like a weapon, being unsheathed frightens me even worse, a somewhat familiar sense of uncontrollable panic flooding my senses.

All at once my eyes fly open and I jolt up, sitting upright and my face not an inch away from the end of a very sharp sword. I blink once, twice.

The person at the end of the sword, a boy of what seems to be about nineteen, give or take a year, with tousled brown hair and mesmerizing gray eyes narrowed to dark slits and partially hidden under his slightly furrowed brows that tip down in the center, looks at me curiously, as if searching for something. I wait in silence, for some reason way less afraid then I should be at the fact that someone's pointing a sword at my face. I think I'm in shock.

He eventually lowers the sword, seemingly satisfied, but doesn't put it away completely. Just holds it in his hands, like he's waiting for an opportunity to use it. I notice that his outfit looks like some kind of post-apocalyptic armor, a dark-ish gray torn shirt with one sleeve that would probably go just over his hand but is instead scrunched up at his wrist and the other torn off just past the elbow. He wears a near-black metal-leather-material-y chestplate and shoulder pads, both scratched as if he was fighting something. His pants look pretty similar and are tucked into a huge, bulky pair of black laced boots. He has a belt around his waist that holds some number of items that strikingly resemble weapons. (They're probably weapons.)

"Who are you?"

I... um. Well, this is... what...? I struggle at that same question, finally pulling out a name. To fill the silence during the struggle, I say, "Well, I could be asking you the same question."

His expression remains indifferent. "Cute," he says, his tone ice cold, "But I'm holding the sword. So, actually, it might be in your best interest to answer me."

I stare at him for a moment, sizing up the sword and where the door lies in this unfamiliar room, it's wooden walls busted and replaced in some areas, a multitude of area rugs covering the floor with different patterns and designs, overlapping at places. The boy catches me staring at the door and raises his sword a few inches, as if threatening me.

It's working. Just a little.

I continue to survey my surroundings, stalling for my lack of trust.