Stories From 2011 (Dear Players, What's Mine, Queen Bee)

What's Mine Is Yours...Unfortunately: Chapter 3

THANKS FOR ANY AND ALL SUPPORT!!! Now do it again;) lol (by the way to the person who asked what training means it just means she knows how to kick a$$, she’s had lessons. How and why will be explained later…)

Now enjoy:D…hopefully

~Serenity~

                After limping the remaining blocks to the orphanage I crawl inside. My leg is still bleeding and the blood was leaving a little trail mark. I grimace as the pain only gets worse.

                After closing the door I’m left in the darkness. There are no windows in the hallway of the orphanage or a light switch for that matter so I stumble my way into what I hope is the kitchen. I immediately know it’s not when I smack straight into a wall. I taste the coppery blood in mouth and know I just busted my lip. Great! Note the sarcasm.

                I’m having such a great night!       

                I step away from the wall and bring out one hand in front of me to see where the wall ends. When I don’t feel anything anymore I blindly walk in. With my arm still in front of me I feel around for the light switch. When I finally wrap my fingers around it I flick it up. Immediately light floods into the kitchen and I have to squeeze my eyes shut.

                When I open them again I look around trying to remember where the first aid kit is. When I realize Mary had said something about restocking it and that we would have to live without one for a couple days I groan. This is just too fantastic! What else can happen? Even in my thoughts the sarcasm is thick.

                “What to do. What to do.” I mumble to myself.

                Slowly I make myself to the pantry. All the way in the back alcohol is stored. I open the pantry door and dig my hand in until I wrap my fingers around the nozzle of the vodka bottle and pull it out. I then proceed to make my way out of the kitchen.

                I turn the light back off and make my way to my room in the pitch black. I don’t stumble into anymore walls though because I could walk the way to my room with a blindfold over my eyes. When I grab the handle of my door I rattle it a bit until it opens.

                The room is a tiny four-white-walls space. It barely fits my twin bed and desk, but I prefer it to the other larger rooms because at least with this one I have privacy and don’t have to share it with anyone. I flick the lights on and shut my eyes before the light fills the room. I don’t want a repeat of the kitchen. That really hurts your eyes.

                I limp over to my bed before collapsing. I lay there for a bit before getting up and grabbing two hand towels that I kept in my room. Don’t ask me why I had them I just did. I open the vodka bottle and take a few gulps. I swallow the white liquid and it burns my throat, but I take a few more mouthfuls.

                I wait until the effect of the alcohol dawns on me a bit before wetting one of the towels with the vodka. I then put the bottle cap back on and lay the bottle on the ground. Finally I pull my pant leg up. I hiss at the pain even though I know it would have been a lot more painful if I wasn’t tipsy.

                I gulp and grab the other towel. I bite on it as I wipe my scraped and bloody leg with the alcohol. The only thing keeping me from screaming is the towel clenched between my teeth, yet I still continue to rub the towel on the scrape until all the blood is wiped away. After all I can’t risk infection.

                When I’m done I throw the towels on the floor and plop back on my bed too exhausted to change. I don’t know how long I just stayed there watching the ceiling and trying to ignore the pain, but I guess it wasn’t all that long because before I knew it I was dreaming.