No Good

Chapter 1 - Not a flying cockroach at least

I couldn't endure any longer and drifted to the numbness.

***

I opened my eyes in the hospital with a very worried James staring me with a alarmed expression on his pretty face. He gave a sigh of relief when he saw me conscious. I tried to smile to him to ensure him I was okay but there was a sharp pain on my right cheekbone so it should have been looked like a grimace.

"Hey," he said. "How are you feeling?"

There he was. The only person I have closest to a family. Not that I don't have one but I am not that close to my parents to feel that family vibe from them. But James Brooke was the brother I never had and my best friend of 3 years. In that moment, his blond head was shining under the cold light of the hospitality room and two eyebrows of his were met with worry.

"Like someone tried to wash my head in a washing machine and then threw it in a dryer." I told him.

Then my eyes grew wide when I remembered I didn't know where the Chew, my dog was. I never had the chance to find him before the attack.

"James, did you see Chew?" I asked, worry was clear to ears.

"No, but don't worry. I am sure he is at someplace near home."

He tried few times to calm me down, but failed and stood up to find the nurse.

After hours of check-ups and police investigations, we were free to go home. I told every detail, which was very little -much to my chance- since there was nothing for me to describe; no sight or voice. They concluded that it was a thievery case, even if there were any stuff gone, which awaked a huge frustration on James towards them.

Now, do not underestimate the level of scary James can get by judging him the way he treats his friends. By being almost two meters with huge muscles here and there and sharp features of his face, you wouldn't want this guy to be angry with you.

But there was no evidence to corroborate that it was a directed homicidal attack. There was nothing to investigate.

James almost started to menacing the policemen even if I weren't to drag him out of the hospital to his car. When we arrived to my apartment, he got in the apartment first and controlled everywhere for me. Apparently, the thief sabotaged the power of my apartment to have an advantage. When we got back, though, everything was fixed by the janitor.

We found Chew, my poor baby, in my bedroom half-conscious. I started crying hard and wanted to go to vet but James insisted that to call the vet to home since I was already 'tired'.

I told him a sequence of words that indicate how much I cared about being tired and where he can stick his concern to.

It turned out that Chew was given a high dosage of tranquilizer but will be okay after spending a couple of days under the control of his doctors.

As we wait at the outside of the examination room, I barely stood on my feet. I had this uncontrollable shaking/crying. James tried to comfort me but I needed to get it out. The effects of that night was just catching me. He, then, convinced me to go home to get some rest as long as we would get back in the early morning. Since I would need a ride to vet and it was not safe for me to be alone that night, James decided to crash at mine.

I was in my bed as he made a himself a bed on the floor. Even after half an hour, I knew he wasn't sleeping yet.

"Did he... did he run past by you? I mean, how, where did he run away," I asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing anyway.

He cleared his throat before answering. " I don't know." There was a pause. "Probably window? You know, it's the first floor and you always left windows open," he mused. I almost heard his brain working hard to find answers.

"Fuck, P. I am so sorry. I wish I could help. It's just-" he sighed, frustrated. "I should've been there for you. I could've protect you. I--"

"Hey, don't be silly, if it weren't for you to be here, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Besides, how were you to know this would happen? There was no way we could be ready for this, was there? You can't be angry with yourself for something you can't foresee" I protested.

"Can't you really name someone who might have to do with this? No one?" he asked, overhearing my denial.

"No," I whispered. There was no one. I had couple of friends from school, but nothing much. My family was far away from me, geographically and emotionally.

We both were lost at words and room felt silent again. I focused on my breathing to better concentrate on my thoughts. I didn't closed my eyes, I couldn't dare to close my eyes. My eyes were fixed on the lightly illuminated ceiling of my bedroom as I replayed the entire evening in my head, which was hard to do, since every memory belonged to the 'accident' -as policemen referred it- were only consisted of aggressively muttered voices, hard touches but mostly, pitch blackness.

When bad things are happened to the person's himself, I guess that person never quite gets the seriousness of the matter. I, for example, would expect myself to be more frightened, or mortified, even. But after crying so hard at the vet, I couldn't feel the pity for myself anymore. Instead, I felt the anger. Towards me, for not being able to defend myself fully, and to the attacker, for... you know, obvious reasons. But, mostly, I felt the shame, for screaming that helplessly, pathetically and scared. Because of how I gave myself up on that floor, on that cold titles, trying to see who was holding the gun above my head...

Then, the question comes. Why? Why would anyone in this world want to attack a girl who has nothing? No thief in his right mind would rob an apartment like mine, it is obvious from the outside of the building that there is nothing precious inside. No crazy ex-boyfriend was there to come to my place and freak the fuck outta me. Nothing. No one that may want to see me...dead.