The Third Eye (#1)

21. Constance

My eyes hesitate to flutter open as the heavy darkness I was faced with previously disappears. As my eyes struggle to open, small slivers of light seep through the darkness encouraging my eyes to open further. Once completely open I stare up at the dark ceiling above me granting no information about where I was leaving me in a state of perplexion.

What happened again?

As I try to turn my head to the side to look around, a stinging sense of discomfort rushes to my neck, and I immediately return my head to it's previous position. I breathe heavily as I brace myself for the next attempt to look around. Forcing my head to the right-side once more I ignore the pain rushing to my neck as I adjust my eyes to the darkness to see the outline of a figure on a cot beside me.

Staring harder at the figure, my eyes finally adjust completely to the darkness and I am able to identify the male's messy blonde hair to be none other than the idiot himself -- Alexander.

As I stare at the bandages wrapped around his head, stomach, and arms the memories of the event come rushing back to me.

Oh yeah, the actual bloody spawn of Satan tried to murder me.

I roll my eyes as I look at Alexander's unconscious body laying on the cot beside me.

You idiot, I was trying to save you. Why'd you jump back in to help me?

Guilt slowly sinks into the pit of my stomach as I try to shake the thought of his injury being the consequence of my actions.

Why do I keep putting the people I care about in danger?

I lay still in the darkness, watching his chest rise and fall with the rhythmic pattern of his breathing.

This is actually what I spent my entire life trying to avoid.

    My stomach aches looking at the pained expression plastered on his face and I can't help the thought, This is why I deserve to be alone, from infiltrating my mind.

    After a couple more minutes of torturing myself with guilt, the concern for another individual crosses my mind and I force my head to turn to the left to acknowledge an empty cot beside me. However, the sheets were disheveled as if somebody had recently been occupying the space.

    If I'm right about this, he definitely feels like shit at this moment.

    Deciding to go find the missing individual, I mentally prepare myself for the inevitable anguish I was about to experience from moving out of bed. As I go to press my wrist down on the cot to push myself up, a rush of sharp pain plagues the entirety of my hand and I have to bite down hard on my lip to prevent myself from yelping out in pain. Immediately I retract my wrist from it's previous position and slowly lift my arm to my face to investigate. Soreness rushes through the entirety of my arm and I find myself consistently wincing from the unbearable discomfort.

    With my hand mere inches from my face now I notice the cast wrapped around my hand and wrist area and my thoughts recall the event of Dante snapping my wrist as if it was a stick.

    God dammit.

    With this new revelation I try to use my non-dominant hand to push myself into a sitting position. However, with the incredible soreness flowing through the entirety of my body my efforts are fruitless and I end up falling back onto the cot in defeat.

    I angrily kick my feet against the makeshift bed but immediately regret doing so as I didn't recognize I was shaking the bed side-to-side until I feel my body no longer touching the soft linen sheets.