The Hit List

Chapter 6

First, I felt my skin, clinging to the leather under my neck. I swallowed what little saliva my mouth had generated, feeling my throat dry. I lifted my hand, pressing it to my tender forehead, feeling a large bandage covering it from the air.

I had never felt this kind of bandage on my skin, the majority of my injuries from nervously plucked hangnails. My eyes adapted to the room's lighting, and I tried to fully regain consciousness. 

My coffee table held a flowered wine glass with five small red tablets nestled next to it. There was a burgundy liquid inside. 

I imagined the wine hitting my empty stomach, which made it turn. Before long, the vertigo grabbed hold of me, causing my body to collapse and heave above my floor. All I could find was saliva, which I spat onto the wood.

I heard the water start running behind me, a person pouring the liquid into a cup. My body flung itself around my eyes arriving at the stranger filling a tall glass with tap water. I gulped down air as though it were a drink itself, the realization hitting me.

The bindings were gone, my limbs free to move however I so chose. My mouth could let out any noise. I could alert everyone in the complex to my situation. Who was home at this hour could determine how quickly help arrived.

Whichever hour it was. While I was out, time had gone, though I wasn't sure how much. My wristwatch was on, but my muscles wouldn't let it move inside my line of sight. 

I felt a prickling sensation on my skin as he approached me and brought the glass up to my chest.

I remained statuesque, and he watched. My body had the sensation of having been sculpted by frozen marble. My skin continued to be covered in ice, and it seemed as though the ice was freezing my blood.

His eyes were as cold as mine, and he closed his lids once before returning to watch me. The movement was a reminder that the entity before me was human. 

He had the appearance of having lived a long life because of the large circles under his eyes. But he couldn't be older than thirty, perhaps a very well-aged thirty-five.

A sickness emanated through him, most likely one of the mind. Differing than mine. "Take it." He said, shaking the cup slightly in front of me. A few drops spilled onto my track pants.

A dot covered the leg, changing the yellow spot to a darker mustard color. I gazed at it, my eyes committing its precise shape to memory. It wasn't a perfect circle, it was flawed. 

I raised my hand and moved the hair away from my skin out of habit. A tiny clump of it stuck under my bandage as my palm wrapped around it. While I peeled the hair off the glue, my other hand kept the covering in place. I writhed a little as it tugged at my scalp.

"I'll just leave this here." His voice hit my right ear. His hand came into view as he placed the clear liquid beside the deep red one. "I took some Tylenol out of your bathroom, I figured your head would probably need it." His footsteps traveled away from me, as I heard his hands go into his bag once more.

I swallowed some bile and felt waves of nausea wash through my stomach "How long was I out?" I would be unable to identify my own voice, it sounded so deep. Over a week had passed since I last used it. You can grow weary of yourself too.

"About an hour." He responded. "Hour ten." My refrigerator door opened, and then I heard it close. "Are you trying to starve yourself?"

My finger scratched at the water stain, my brain seemingly in survival mode. 

In my psychology class, we had learned about the usual fight or flight response, but there was a third option as well. I had tried to fight, but now my body was telling me to freeze.