Pink Walls

Day Three [Part VII]✓

"You sound like your grandfather."

There were no clocks in Daniel's one-bedroom apartment but I didn't need one to know that it was just a little past nine—and a handful of dreaded hours till midnight.

Wednesday was fast approaching—I still felt like shit—and I had counted all the seconds in-between, agonizingly aware that I wouldn't be able to take down another hunting dog if one showed up now at the front door—even if they turned out to be less determined than Amelia had been.

Give yourself more credit, Kayden, a grim voice whispered at the back of my mind just as the thought was fading away. She was determined and you still killed her.

The cotton swab in my hand slipped across a cut on my arm, broke the still-forming scab, then fell to the floor.

When I looked up, I saw my annoyed expression staring back at me.

I turned my gaze away from the standing mirror and thumped my bandaged fist on my knee. C'mon.

One shallow inhale later and I had cleared my mind, now preoccupied by the piece of abstract art my chest had been turned into. Light and deep splotches of black and blue ran down my body from collar to torso, and my right side was just a mess.

I gave it an experimental prod then sucked in a sharp breath when a burning pain lanced through me. Something is definitely fractured.

The antibiotic cream stung more than the shower did but nothing beat the soreness in my ribs. Deep breaths were hard to take, and breathing alone put me in a world of pain.

While I wouldn't have had my fight with Amelia go any other way, my body begged to differ.

I could feel every lick of air against my injuries and I didn't want to think about how it would feel to fight someone and run around with them.

It was safe to say that I wasn't looking forward to tomorrow.

Other than my ribs, my back had taken the most damage. I had washed most of the glass out the many cuts that now decorated it but I knew that I hadn't gotten them all. After spending a couple minutes struggling with a tweezer, I gave up.

Despite knowing that I needed to patch myself up and get in the best condition that I could, I just couldn't bring myself to do anything more than the bare minimum.

What's the point if you'll just get yourself beaten again tomorrow, Kayden?

I pressed my knuckles to my forehead and let the thought leave my system with the stream of air that passed my lips.

This wasn't the time to be entertaining my voice of doubt. Optimism was needed, more than fighting skills, to survive as a runner, but doubts always snuck past my walls when I was too tired to keep them up—like right now.

Sometimes I wondered why I didn't just get a promotion and spared myself the unnecessary beat downs. Other times I wondered why I didn't just gather the money I had saved till now and leave without saying goodbye.

You know why, Kayden. You love the pain.

The bathroom door swung open almost silently, but I was able to hear Daniel's soft steps approaching even though most of the sound was swallowed up by the rug.

"I can help," he said, directly behind me now.

I could almost hear the water dripping down his hair to the floor. Almost.

I swallowed the word 'no' before it rolled off the tip on my tongue, reached into the first aid kit balanced on my right thigh and got the tweezers out.