Running on Empty

SHOT | 1

"Can I have a drag?" It hurt to listen to my words almost as much as it hurt to say them.

"You smoke?" His voice matched his eyes. Honey.

"I – I don't know."

When he held the cigarette out to me I grabbed it with a shaking hand. I brought the stick to my mouth at a snail's pace before I placed it precariously between my lips and attempted to breathe in smoothly.

All went well up until the smoke actually entered my lungs. I ripped the cigarette away from my mouth to keep it away from the violent coughs that made my arms ache.

"I'm guessing not," He mused. "What's your name?" Just as the Man asked, a waitress in a short powder blue dress sauntered up to the counter and did a concerned double take.

"Amira." I handed the cigarette back to him. "I think."

"Do I need to call someone for you, darling?" The waitress spoke up with her head cocked to the side and a squished-up expression clouding her pretty face. "I can't place it but ya almost look familiar."

She slid a glass of cold water across the counter towards me as she stared, cutting off any train of thought I had as my mouth began to salivate. Both of my hands grabbed at the condensation-covered glass and after a barely muttered thanks, I downed several large gulps.

I hadn't had water in days.

That thought hit me like a freight train on abandoned tracks.

Where had I been that hadn't had water? Somewhere not good, if the blood covering me wasn't evidence enough. Even more than that, my whole being just ached. I ached like I had been hit by a car, or attacked by a wolf.

I downed more water, my runaway thoughts chugging past as the last drop of water from the glass dribbled down out of the corner of my mouth.

In and out. Deep breaths. In and out. Alive and breathing, freshly hydrated, attractive man to my right and a concerned woman in front.

She was very boldly staring, not even blinking – which was more than a little unnerving – and she wasn't alone in that. The Man hadn't taken his eyes off of me for a moment, but I didn't really mind his gaze.

"Familiar?" The Man questioned.

I peeked at him. If I looked familiar then that must mean that people know me, and if people know me then people must miss me. That's just logic.

"Don't ya think?" Both pairs of eyes were off of me finally, turning towards each other with glazed-over looks as if they had both just been lobotomized. "Something about her..." The waitress said again, trailing off uneasily.

"Where is this? I can't – I can't remember–" I cut off, realizing that neither were listening. If only I knew where I was then maybe things would be clearer.

The aching throughout my everything became more localized, zeroing in on one point with a painful precision that had me curling in on myself every so slightly. My hand grabbed at the point of pain, fresh blood seeping through my fingers and I gnawed on my lower lip. So that's why my shirt was clinging to me.

I forced myself to look down, carefully taking in the blood that inched its way across my clothes like ink in water. The shirt peeled off of my side with a numb sort of pain and I glanced up again. Neither the Man nor the waitress was looking at me yet and I turned my attention back to... a bullet hole?

As soon as I saw it, I felt it, and Gods did it hurt. The pain was a fire licking around my torso. Sticky blood barely clotted around the wound, and somehow I knew the bullet was still in there. It wouldn't heal right if it was still in there.