The Princess of The Ambrose Asylum ( Book 1of 3)

11

We were quick and we were silent as we made our way through the hotel foyer, rushing to the closest elevator and pressing the button to call it. I looked around nervously, Dean ignoring the passers-by who stared at the bloody cut on his face. He simply stood there, tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

My nerves were shot so I was highly relieved when it finally did. He grabbed my hand tighter and pulled me inside, the doors closing behind us.

"What floor is your room on?" he asked.

"Uh, six," I said.

"Did you notice whether you had a first aid kit in there?" he questioned.

"I dunno... maybe," I replied.

"I'll take the chance," he said, pressing the button for floor six. "I don't wanna have to go to my room and explain this to Seth and Roman."

The elevator gently began to move, the only noise filling the space being the hum of the motor moving us up.

I rested against the wall, watching him intently with focused eyes, honestly not knowing what to say to him in that moment. What can you say to a guy who has just gone through shit like that? I'd never seen anything like it before. The way he fought five of them off so easily, the way he barely broke a sweat, the way he struck the fear of death into them...

The way he knew exactly where you were and managed to swoop in at exactly the right time...

My eyebrows furrowed, so many questions running through my head. And since our elevator ride was currently filled with an uncomfortable silence, I figured now was the best time to get some of those questions answered.

"So how did you know where I was?" I asked him curiously.

"I saw you leave the bar," he replied, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall in front of him. "That group of douche-bags was in there too. I saw them smirking and muttering to themselves as they followed you out. I didn't like the look of them so I chased after them to make sure they didn't cause any trouble. It's a good job I did."

"I see," I said in understanding, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "I guess I was lucky you were in there tonight."

"Yeah. I guess you were," he responded.

We were awkwardly silent again, my eyes carefully scanning his face. It seemed blank and expressionless, his eyes giving nothing away as to what his mind was thinking. His body seemed stiff and tense, but his face gave me no clues to how he was feeling, what the entire encounter had done to him. Finally my eyes landed on the giant cut spread over his cheek. The trail of blood that had fallen down his skin had since dried, and I knew he'd have to get it cleaned up soon. I wasn't sure if it would scar, but the longer we left it, the more people would question it.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"Does what hurt?"

"The cut on your face."

He laughed lightly to himself. "Nah, it doesn't hurt. I used to get cuts like these all the time. It's nothing I'm not used to."

"Oh," I said quietly, wondering what he meant by that.

Dean was a bit of an enigma is some ways, his personal life closely guarded. He had this crazy split personality of which I'd seen both sides. I'd witnessed the happy, carefree, kind Dean, but I'd also seen the crazy, unstable, lunatic side to his character. I often wondered what had driven him to act like this, what had happened in his past to make him seem so insane and act so fucked up. If he'd experienced weapons, violence and knives before, where the fuck had he come from?