Flames And Blades

Chapter Nine: Foolish

 I wake up in the arms of a man. Not good. Never good. My mind instantly goes to every bad possibility this could bring. I confirm many of them, more coming in from the acknowledgement that I didn't know him in the slightest. Meaning murder, the possibility of satanic sacrifices, or cult uprisings. He smelt really good though. Like popcorn and an Irish spring soap bar (they smell great, it's not even arguable at this point).

Shit. My mind pops back to normal, Trevor. Then questions. Not as many as there should have been, but enough to have me bouncing from the inside.

What happened? How am I here? Almost instantly as I think these things my mind goes groggy again. And in the seconds I was up, I went out quicker. This time the blackness is softer, and a scratchy bunch of switched ink appears and disappears before me.

The next time I start up and stay that way, it's to the strange guy talking to who I suppose is the person he was yelling at when he ran to me. I need to wake the fuck up. My mind alerts and I rescan the man. Very standard bad boy look. Both of them actually. The man carrying me, as if I'm less than twenty pounds, something I don't quite know how to deal with, looks less than a couple inches short of six foot, has raven black hair, unreadable eyes and, of course, a jawline stronger than my will.

That. is. Enough.

"Um.. Yeah, Hugh Grant, there are these things called feet. I'd very much like to use mine, you know for oh gee standing on my own accord." He then attempted to hide a smirk, it didn't quite work from my angle. Especially since I was close enough to feel him laughing. Annoyed, I struggle, but he just puts me in some sort of halfway camp bed thing, making a look that suggests I stay put.

"Hugh Grant, huh? Never heard that one before, always thought I'd be a Jackman before a Grant, though." Yeah? And I've never thought I'd get picked up by a man as if I were a child, so we're both picking up new things.

"Yeah, you've got the looks. The cockiness too, by the sounds of it. Now, if you would like to sound any less like a kidnapper and more like a good semmaratin, you'd give me answers." Annoyance creeps in, I need to get to Trevor and his situation, from what I recall, just now without a car. I waited. No give. No answer. The two girls that were in front of the book shop are still here but talking with the other guy that's here. Angered, I stared, not moving, at Grant. Until he spoke. Or in my jumpy case, a guy appeared behind me and spoke, laughing a little. The same one that was talking with the girls earlier, I startle, wondering how he got from point A to point B without me so much as noticing.

"Yeah, she's definitely the one. But dude, you really do make it look like we're abducting her, so uh gee, I dunno. Maybe not throw her on a bed like that?"See? Dude gets it. Although Grant just tightened his jawline. Done with not getting answers, I get up. Only to stagger backwards and back into the M*A*S*H scenery. While the black confetti behind my eyes floated everywhere in my view, so did the flashbacks of what happened. Not flashbacks, exactly, more like snapshots and bulleted lists. A scene with my car severely crashed here, the thought thereafter was that my insurance is gonna be a whole new level of agony now. Followed by a mental recording of Trevor's drunken tone and kerfuffling with the mental note after saying 'save the boy! Save the boy!' in bold underline. I can't stand to enhance my point, but I do create a tone of severity whilst speaking frantically.

"My car! Trevor! No. No. This is not happening. Where's my stuff? I have to go." I immediately start patting around me, thinking for some reason, that if Grant had placed me on this thing, he placed my other stuff here too. Nope.

Travolta and understanding dude were at my side in an instant. Sitting me back down, and grabbing my bag- the one Travolta had in his hands. Taking deep breaths, I take the bag, nodding thanks and dig for my phone.