Shattered

Chapter 6

Lloyd was conscious in the darkness. Well, no, not conscious necessarily, but he knew that he was asleep somehow. Maybe knocked out or dead or in a coma or maybe he was possessed again, but he was aware that he wasn't awake.

He was also aware that he couldn't move.

It was an odd feeling, not new to him, he got plenty used to this feeling when he was being possessed, and for the first several hours, days, weeks, of this darkness he panicked. In his mind he twisted and tore and clawed and fought against the restraints on his body. Screaming and fighting until even in his mind his voice was hoarse and his body ached and his mind was throbbing and numb.

But he didn't feel any presence in him.

His body wasn't fighting back against him like it would when he was possessed. Yes, it resisted him. Resisted his commands and complaints to move, twitch, shake, spasm, something, but it wasn't attacking him in return. Not like it did with Morro. Not stabbing at him, and having nerves exploded in parts of his body and then slowly, painstakingly slowly, rebuild itself as he kept moving, kept fighting, kept screaming in pain and agony for someone to help him. For someone to please just kill him already. No, that wasn't what was happening.

He must've gotten into a fight or something along those lines. He vaguely remembered, when he pushed and prodded at his mind, like he knew how to, to get memories or feelings out. It was painful, sure, enough to where he almost lost grasp on his kinda consciousness a few times, but he held on and kept pushing. He had worse. He remembered an explosion, a girl's scream, and the familiar cracking of his body when he landed on the ground from a high distance. He had heard that and felt that enough times for it to be second nature.

He had gotten into a fight, a hostage situation perhaps, and he fell somehow probably from an explosion or bomb of some sort, and now he was unconscious. Most likely in a coma.

And something warm was beside him almost the entire time.

It had gone away recently which he wasn't necessarily happy about, since that warmth, that heat, that pressure, whatever it was, was the only thing reminding him that he wasn't dead yet. But it was enough at the beginning to keep a small fragment of his surroundings in mind. And when his idea of his surroundings grew, something hard and smooth under him, something damp and rough patted against his head, murmured and watery sounds, a squeeze against his hand, he knew he was getting better.

When he commanded his body to move again, he felt his finger twitch. He tried again and that finger curled into his palm, then the rest of his fingers followed until it was a fist. Good. Try something else. He went down to where he assumed his foot was and told it to move upright, to tense and stand straight. It did. Then he moved onto his eyes, pushing them against his closed eyelids, twisting and straining,

until

His eyes blinked open.

And he immediately closed them again. Bright light instantly blinded him, and he could feel his face contorting into a grimace from it. He made a sound, close to a groan but not quite, deep in his throat, and his fisted hand shifted up towards his face. It was heavy, heavier than any right it had to be, and he opened up his hand to block the light from his eyes.

He could feel it now. The continuous warmth, heat, on his face from hours of having it shine on him. It was nice, much better than from the last time he woke from something like this, when he opened his eyes to only more darkness and sounds of dripping water, and something hard and heavy around his wrists. This was different, and Lloyd wasn't complaining about it.

He tried opening his eyes again, and he successfully kept them open this time, albeit a little blinking, and his hand blocking the sun helped. But he kept them open. Which means he wasn't in a coma anymore.