Harrington

Back Again

My eyes snap open and I shut them again, the unfamilar bright light making my head hurt.

"Kid." A rough hand grabs my shoulder and shakes me awake, making my head pound. I try to make noise, but all that comes out is a raspy wheeze, my raw throat allowing nothing else. I hear a man sigh, and the familiar nature of it makes my mind whir with realization. My eyes snap open as my most previous memories rush back into my mind, along with the hunger rushing back into my stomach. I didn't think it was possible for my body to ache more, but it does. My legs feel like they've been massaged with lumpy rocks for hours on end. My head pounds like a thousand little hammers beating on my skull. My face stings, some of my old cuts are re-opened and my bruises are all sore. My stomach feels like tiny men went into my gut and cleaned everything out, scraping the walls and leaving my insides to twist and turn.

I see his face, looking down at me and frowning with concern. When he sees that my eyes are opened he looks relieved, running a hand through his messy hair. I look around me then, trying to recognize the place I lie in. I'm on the floor, in the corner of an unfamiliar room. It's messy, the coffee table that sits by the couch is covered with junk food.

I try to sit up, but Hopper's rough hand pushes me back down, "Not a chance."

I try to protest, opening my mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a strained whisper. I frown, trying to talk again. This time I manage to find a little voice, though it hurts too much, and I'm forced to stop. The Chief looks at me and smiles slightly.

"You've never been so quiet," I scowl at his smug expression, "It's kind of nice."

Though I cannot speak, I do manage to growl slightly at the man, ignoring his hand and sitting up anyways.

"You look like hell," He watches as I struggle to stand, clutching at a nearby table for support. I'm tired of not being able to speak, so I take a deep breath and try as hard as I can to make noise.

"M'fine." I manage to squeak out before I clutch my neck in pain. Hopper shakes his head, grabbing my arm and leading me over to the couch.

"You're not fine." He pushes me slightly and I immediately lose my balance and fall onto the sofa. I look up at his face and see that he's distracted, like he wants to do something important but knows he should take care of me first. He keeps glancing at the phone or the lights or the seams of the furniture. His hand twitches slightly and I sigh.

"G....go." I say horsely, wincing in pain. He looks at me, and seems ro understand that I've noticed his itching to do his job.

"You need to eat first," He helps me off the couch and leads me to a door. "Get cleaned up as best as you can while I get you some food."

I nod and grab the doorway, stepping into the bathroom. I turn on the light by leaning on it and clutch the sink. Looking up into the mirror makes me gasp. I look terrible.

My face is shallow, my cheeks sucked in and my bagged eyes wandering. My hair sits in a loose ponytail, tangled and dirty. My bandaged wrist is bloody from my bike fall, and my shirt is ripped. My face is bruised and my pale skin makes my injuries stand out. Pulling up my shirt, I can see my ribcage stretching against my filthy skin. It hurts to move, and I know washing my face will be difficult.

So I take it one step at a time. I run the water warm and squirt out some soap. Gently, I wash my aching face and get rid of the dried blood and dirt. I wash my hands and run a comb through my hair. After a couple minutes, I turn off the light and stagger my way through the hallway.

The wall isn't very helpful when my knees give up beneath me and I collapse to the floor. I gasp in pain, my head pounding with the sound of blood pumping vigorously through my ears. I hit the ground hard, rolling over onto my back and twitching slightly with pain. I am weak, and have no energy left in me. I lie there, hearing Hopper's heavy feet come running into the hall.