Saviour [h.s]

chapter eight

I've changed Sebastian to Luke Hemmings, if I forgot to change his name somewhere in one of the chapters, please point it out so I can change it!

Stumbling into the livingroom, it's more quiet than ever. I have no idea what time it is or if anyone else is awake except me. I turn on a light and go to the kitchen to grab a cracker. Putting my plate on the dining table, I spot a door I hadn't seen yesterday. It looks noticeably different than the other doors. It's bigger and it seems made out of stronger material than wood. It's colour matches the walls, blending it in almost perfectly.

I pace along the wall, slowly getting closer to the door. No one else seems to be awake at this time. It's probably around six in the morning so I couldn't blame them. Carefully pressing my hand against the door, it opens almost instantly. The room is almost totally dark behind it, the dim light from the living room only peeking through a little bit.

Tracing my fingers along the wall, I reach a light switch. The lights flicker a few times before shining normally. It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, but when my sight becomes clear, I notice the loads of different guns and other weapons stocked up against the walls. The room goes further back than I assumed it would. In the middle, there's a small cardboard box. I force myself to go farther into the room, pushing myself off the wall to gain some balance. Walking through the room, it suddenly becomes way colder. It's like a window has been open the entire night, but there weren't any in here.

My fingers fidget with box before opening it, revealing a whole collection of pocket knives. I suck in a sharp breath, even though I'm not really surprised. It couldn't have been worse than a whole bunch of fucking guns covering almost the entirety of every wall. Stretching my arm out, trying to grab one, another hand stops me. The firm grip makes my heart race and my throat run dry.

I look at the person standing besides me.

"Be careful, wouldn't want to get hurt again, would you?" Harry speaks quietly, barely louder than a whisper. I slowly lift my hand away from the box, bringing it down by my side as he let's go.

"What is all this?" I ask, ignoring the fact that he's already leading me back to the living room, where my breakfast still lays untouched.

"I think you're forgetting what we're trained to do. Keep in mind that we're doing business with the biggest gang probably in whole the world" Harry clarifies, shutting off the lights behind me and closing the door.

I stumble towards the dining table, trying to put as less weight on my leg as possible. Sitting down on a chair, I rest my leg upon a different one, allowing the blood to gush through it effortlessly.

"How are you tho? How's your leg?" Harry says as he brings his own plate from the kitchen to the dining table. He grabs a chair and puts it down next to mine. I roll up one side of my pajama pants, exposing my skin and the neatly wrapped up wound. It feels more swollen than it looks. Which is kinda weird. It feels like it's at least six pounds heavier. The only noticeable things tho, are the bruises forming around the wound and the fact that it's a little swollen compared to my good leg.

"How's the pain on a scale of one to ten?" Harry continues after taking a good glimpse of my leg.

"Uhh.. I don't know, like a five or something" I never liked this question. I don't understand how anyone could ever answer this. Cause, how much pain is considered a ten? Only based on that, you'll be able to answer this. At least, that's what I think.

"You want some painkillers?" He asks again.

"Nah, I'm fine" I politely decline his offer, starting with my breakfast now.