Telekinetic Fugitive

*Chapter Three*

Days like this one, where the sun is shining and the birds are singing, and the air is being polluted by the car emission. Some will think that these are beautiful days, leading most people to believe that it's going to go great and they'll have fun and it goes according to that and it's just amazing and great, while there are those who have terrible days. Yeah, mine are either somewhat tolerable or just altogether terrible, no in between for the past year. I have been running and making sure that I'm not recognized by anyone who reads or watches the news. Did I do a good job at that? No. Why? Because at the moment, I'm staring up at the person I just ran into, who may as well be one of those agents that are after me. So not worth calling these days beautiful or great. Broad daylight is when someone like me should be hiding and not running around the city like a maniac. 

  The brunet's wet, shaggy hair reached the top of blue eyes that are lined with black and showed signs of sleep loss. His bronze skin holds a few scratches and bandages which gives the hint that he's been in a recent fight. The man wears a black tweed jacket, black leather pants with black and white converse. Well, then, he has no style at all. So, I dub thee, Societal Reject. This is the best my exhausted mind can come up with and I am so not proud of this, but it should be funny in the future—hopefully, maybe, who cares!

  That's the best you can—? I ignore the voice, mentally strangling it as Societal Reject glares down at me with a deep and angry scowl pulling at the male's lips. "Why can't you watch where you're going?"

  I am not in the mood to be insulted or downgraded right now, so with me being stupid, I say, "Dude, you have no reason to talk. You look like a man out of the 1960s who is finally leaving work. I mean, have you seen what you're wearing? Why can't you look in the mirror before insulting others?" My facial expression changes so that I appear to have had an epiphany, snapping my fingers. "Oh, you must be a vampire! It explains your lack of fashion! I--heh--well, never mind, you won't show up." I stand, mentally punching myself for such a stupid thing I said with the help of the voice. You couldn't have thought of something better? I shout back, And you can't help me?

  I push past him to leave but I stop in my tracks when I hear: "At least I'm not a gothic freak."

  I whip around and give him a steely glare. I pause then smile a creepy smile, my eyes flashing with annoyance. "I would love to stay and keep insulting you, but that just seems to go beyond your intelligence." 

  There you go. That's better.

  Shut up.

  I give a sharp, smug smile and turn again to leave when I am roughly grabbed and shoved against the wall. I groan in pain from my already bruised back hitting the hard cement, forcing myself not to wince. I had hurt it yesterday when I got jumped by a thug who thankfully was an amateur and all I received was a bruised back from her kick—yes, it was a girl—and when I landed wrong from a harsh fall during the fight. Why can't people just let me leave?

  Maybe because it's fun picking on you and you make it too easy?

  Oh, shut up. I didn't ask for your input.

  But you did ask a question, I was only being nice to answer it.

  I glare at him with animosity as I make an attempt to break free. Societal Reject keeps me pinned against the brick wall, and by the strength with which he holds me, I know I can't fight my way out of his grasp. I give up on struggling and scowl at him thinking of a way to get him to drop me, then, shall I make an escape. Dang, what am I? Someone from the eighteen hundreds? I need to stop being an idiot and get my priorities straight.

  I open my mouth to say something even more idiotic just to make him mad enough that he drops me; I stop when I notice a car—ooh cool a 2004 black Cadillac!—pull into the alley. I catch sight of a familiar symbol on the side of the said car. Great, Societal Reject works with the same people that want to arrest me or worse, kill me! That's enough, brain, don't need to go crazy, but I agree with myself. I can't trust anyone and it'll be suicide to do so.

  But you can trust me! I mentally curse at both the situation and the voice as I start to struggle once again, which must've confused him. I mean, I stop struggling then I start back up again, he must think I can't make up my mind or something, I don't know but who cares?

  "I'm stronger than you, so why are you so set on trying to fight me?" Societal Reject inquires with a slightly puzzled expression, but his grip never slackens, far from it. He grips my arms tighter and sure enough, I can feel the bruises forming. Wait, no I don't. Ha, how can someone feel a bruise form, wait, is it possible? Okay, I mean, it might be true.

  I don't answer as I take a slight glance at the vehicle. The guy follows my gaze and any annoyance and anger slip off his face. He pales at the sight that greets him. He lets out a curse, dropping me, to which I land in a heap, but I'm fast enough to scramble to my feet, backing away slowly from them, going to the end of the alley. I hear the sound of tires on pavement and look behind me. A gray Mercedes pulls in slightly to block off the entrance. Oh, exactly what I need! More people. We're surrounded and—oh. We're surrounded. This is not good!

  Slow down, Mister Panicky, instructs the voice. Look around your surroundings, find something.

  Oh, so isn't this a surprise? You're helping me.

  Shut up, and do as I say. Gosh, you're annoying at times. Why do I have to be stuck in your mind?

  I sigh and do as it says. I look between Societal Reject and the two groups of the insane people. Scanning our surroundings, I catch sight of a fire escape near us and the people have guns. Yay! Let's see, how to get away from them, but something about the look on Societal Reject's face makes me hesitate. I take a breath and concentrate on the guns. During the past three days, I would practice with my power, but I know it isn't much. I just need this to work. I need to create enough of a distraction. 

 The weird sensation of pins and needles washes over my mind and body as shouts of surprise fill the alley. I hear a small intake of breath coming from my right and know that it's Societal Reject. Then with a flick of my wrist, the sensation is pushed outward. I can see the guns float from out of my peripheral vision. I struggle as I make them fly up onto the roof and let them drop. I take a look at Societal Reject and give a small smirk before grabbing his hand and pushing him towards the fire escape. Taking the hint, he pulls down the ladder and starts climbing up. I see three buff men rushing towards me, and I know I am not getting out of this unscathed. I mean, I just started learning on how to even use the ability that I never knew existed. I can't keep it up like most people would in the stories. This isn't a fairy tale nor a comic book. I'm not Iron Man and can think of something under two point five seconds.

  I jump back and hit the fire escape ladder. Taking my chance, I start to climb, and . . . nope! It doesn't work that way. My leg was grabbed and I'm roughly thrown onto the hard concrete, gasping in pain and with an attempt to draw in air to replace what had been forced out. I hear a crack as pain flares in my ribs after being kicked, leaving me to grunt. The three buff males loom over me as I groan in anguish, my eyes half-lidded. I see them sneer out of the blurry haze of my vision, but I let the same sensation wash over me and I'm about to use it to push them away.

  My shoulder stings as if a needle stuck itself into it. 

  Faintly, I hear the people saying something. I can't make out what exactly, I'm having trouble concentrating. 

  I collapse to a knee, blinking. What's going on? 

  Bang!