Speed

1:3

ONE WEEK LATER

Ophelia Greer

It was cold. Like shivers and trembles cold. I slowly separated my eyelids and found myself lying on a table in what seemed like a medical room. I threw my legs over the side of the table so that I was sitting up. The pain was still unbearable but that didn't stop me from wanting to walk. I had no idea how I got here or who patched me up. Unbearably annoying, if you ask me. 

My arm was secured in a cast, a bunch of stitches ran up and down my arm in a certain place. I slid onto the floor, feeling shooting pain up my leg as I hobbled to the bathroom. It was also cold and the tile sent a shiver through my body from my feet. Waving my hand in front of the switch plate, I turned on the fluorescent white lights to a literal fright. 

The fright was me. 

I was an absolute eye sore. Deep-set bruises were painted beneath my eyes, stitches adorned my forehead. My hair was matted with something brown, probably dried blood. My lip was busted, I had bandages lying across my nose, probably from where Demarcus punched me. I gazed down at my hands to find blood crusted beneath my nails. I was sickly pale and I felt as though I were about to throw up. 

I turned the faucet on and ducked my face underneath the running water, drinking in the cold liquid and allowing it to wash away my exhaustion. I turned it off when I started to feel like I couldn't breathe again. I shook my face a little bit, pissed off that I put myself in this position. Pissed off that my baby was trashed. Pissed off that they tried to kill me. Just plain pissed off. 

I wiped my mouth off with the back of my hand and shut the lights off. I needed to figure out who was here, taking care of me. To my luck it would just be a grubby man and then I'd have to run. 

I saw a scapal lying on a cart to the right side of the medical table. I gripped it and tucked it to the inside of my wrist, making the weapon discreet. I waved my hand in front of the pressure plate, allowing the door to slide open to the right. I slowly creeped my way out of the room, pressing my back along the wall and using it to prop myself up. 

I literally heard nothing. There was no sound throughout the house besides my heaving breath. I was in no shape to fight anyone, but I knew that I wouldn't go down without trying. I rounded the corner into what seemed like the dining room with a small, quaint table and two chairs. The kitchen was behind another pressure plate. There was a door that lead outside but I was craving food. I felt like I hadn't eaten in years. 

As I crept towards the pressure plate, the back door flew open causing me to jump. I flipped the scapal so that the blade was facing the person. When I jumped, I had slipped so my upper back was the only thing propping me up against the wall. 

The boy raised his hands up slowly. He was literally something else. His hair was sticking up in random places, his eyelashes were long and allowed his green eyes to practically glow. He had sharp cheek bones and jawline, plump lips that made me think of what it would be like to kiss him. A 5 'o clock shadow made him look a bit older. Tattoos ran up and down his arms in a glowing blue. They were quite literally glowing. My eyes widened in my breathless state. 

I blinked rapidly and went back to my stone cold face. I had to act tough. I didn't know who he was, what he's done, what he plans to do. He looked muscular and I certainly wouldn't win in this fist fight. He could practically eat me with a spoon and I'd lie there in awe. 

He took a step forward and I jumped again, this time slipping down the wall onto my ass. My body started to shake in the fear and the knowingness of my helpless state. His eyes appeared sympathetic but I had no trust in this boy. I had no trust in anyone.