Second Chances || Thomas McGregor

F I V E

When the morning came I jolt awake having slept in my disgusting, smelly clothes.

Stench, I hate stench.

I could practically smell the sea radiating from my clothes and my arms were crusted in salt. Slowly pushing myself up I making sure not to disturb my leg and brought my crutch closer to where I could hop up. I hobble over to where my suitcase laid and retrieved a back knit sweater and baggy grey pants with some new undergarments. Picking up my toiletries I inch my way towards the bathroom connected to the bedroom which shared the wall the bed laid against.

It was a normal, simple bathroom, shower, bathtub, sink with counter space and light oak cupboards underneath. I unwrap all the bandages carefully, making sure no stitches or bits of skin attached to the cloth. Looking into the mirror I see my face.

What used to be my face, at any rate.

It was scabbed over with blood clots everywhere, chunks of skin seemed to have healed but it was still raw pink, a ghastly sight to any on looker. The stitches in my leg were healing nicely with little to no blood leaking out anymore.

A shower was what would really ease my mind. Hopping into the shower with my crutch leaning against the tub I begin my cleansing. But as soon as the water hit my face I wanted to get this hell over with. Water rushed onto the open wounds creating a pulsating pain that almost brought me to my knees, if I could kneel. Quickly adding soap to a cloth I had found sitting by the tub with a note reading: New, I added the soap in places where I could tolerate being mindful to avoid the stitches.

Lavender scent filled by nostrils as I shampooed and then conditioned my hair, feeling the salt water and four days of grease wash away and down into a drain. I ended the shower having enough of the hair products out of my locks and my tolerance to the pain had dwindled.

Grabbing and putting on the cloths proved difficult for now my wounds seemed super active. Once I managed to put every article of clothing on I proceeded to wring out my hair. That is until I noticed the faint cry of a rooster outside somewhere.

Huh, they sound like they're choking on something.

My thoughts were interrupted when frantic knocks came from my door. Who in their right mind would knock so loudly? Putting the now soaked towel down I headed towards the door. The knocking continued and wishing for the noise to stop I politely mumbled "Shut the hell up."

Upon opening it a young man lunged at me and engulfed me in a bone-crushing hug. Which really did feel like bone crushing since he touched the side of my face and possibly all of my shoulder bruises. "I am so, so very sorry. The rabbit just slipped into the oven and I had no idea. I would never cook one of your animals. You see the funny thing is..." His English accent ringing in my ear as I looked up at him.

He now had stood up straight with, what I now noticed, bluebells in his hand. He had dark brown hair and wearing a nice blue shirt. His jaw slowly dropped and his eyes were locked into mine. He looked like he had seen a ghost by his facial expression.

Do I look that bad?

The green intensity from his eyes made me slightly waver. He was too adorable for his own good. And that dumbfounded look made it seem even more comical.

"Ummmm... well... are those bluebells for me?" I asked getting slightly annoyed at how all he was doing was gawking.

"No!" He yelled. I almost fell over at the volume of his voice but was able to catch myself against the wall.

"Hell, why did you yell? I am standing right in front of you!" First he hugs me then he yells at me. Bipolar much.

"Who are you!?" His face contorts into something I can only describe as confusion and rage with a hint of glaring.