Chapter Four

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I MIGHT HAVE TO KILL YOU

WITH a persistent sweat, you found yourself in the safety and comfort of your own bedroom, confused, with blankets wrapped around you to create a false sense of security. The windows were all, you noticed after a thorough investigation of the entire room, pulled open so that the harsh winds of the night air fluttered into the room, drawing out any warmth with rushed movements so that goosebumps inevitably formed upon your skin, even under the protection of the thick blankets.

As quickly as you could, you stood from the bed, haphazardly throwing the blankets from your skin, only to yelp out in equal parts pain and surprise as you tumbled down to the floor in a heap, tendrils of pain shooting up your entire leg. 'I just wanted to close the dang window. . .' you thought to yourself with a soft pout.

Looking down, you saw the inklings of black and blue that danced around the skin jutting out before the bone strategically placed there, the faintest hint of purple thrown into the concoction. It was almost as if an entire night sky, filled to the brim with beautiful shades of colors unimaginable, was slapped to your skin, a blooming sight so beautiful that you had no words. A white bandage covered your thigh, a sight which you missed as you observed your ankle, hoping that it wasn't broken.

But one thing was for sure, it hurt a hell of a lot more than you assumed.

Oh, you had forgotten that the horrid injury was there, merely in the heat of the moment. Because the one concrete thought in your mind was how, just how, did you end up back into your own bedroom when you awoke earlier in a bedroom which wasn't your own?

Your brain began to pulse, pained by all your thinking.

As you let the silence surround you, massaging the aching skin and wincing each time your fingers drew too close to the source, you heard soft padding across the floor coming from beyond the wooden door, an eyebrow subconsciously raising in confusion.

The door to your bedroom suddenly slammed open, the force exerted upon it causing the handle to slam into the wall, barely on the brink of tearing through the rather thin material. A wide-eyed Maria stood in the doorway, hand over her heart at the sight of you and ragged breaths falling from her mouth.

"Are you okay?" She frantically asked as she approached you, collapsing besides you to draw your warm face into her cold hands, thumbs flicking softly against the reddening skin. Her eyes closed in relief at the sight of you, uninjured, blood-free, sort of. "I heard a thump and thought someone else was in the room, trying to hurt you or something."

You nodded. "I'm okay, at least I think I am," when Maria rose a brow in confusion, you motioned towards your ankle, seeing her eyes widen even more. A chocked moan of pain left you in the form of a silent shriek when her hand enclosed around your ankle to bring it up to her face, pain vining around the nerves and forcing its way upwards throughout your body. "Maria, can you tell me what exactly happened last night?" You had remember snippets, but confusion was evident.

"I don't know," she admitted, avoiding your gaze, which was peculiar to you, "after they barged into the restaurant, they immediately knocked me out. When I woke up, you and the group of the people that you work with were gone. It was like it was planned."

"Is it broken?" You asked, rolling the appendage a few times and frowning at the feeling.

Maria examined it for three seconds longer. "No, I don't think so," she murmured, finger digging into the skin. You hissed, curling your hands into fists, skin turning a prominent pale at the mere tightness of her grip. "Most likely just bruised, nothing that a few hours of icing won't fix. I would worry more about the large bandage on your thigh, and if the wound there is infected or not."

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