The next day we're not woken with a whistle. General Sanders has not barged into the dorm at 5 in the morning to rouse us. Instead, I find I wake up contentedly at 8 in the morning. My shock is palpable. Did I sleep through Sander's whistle? That's impossible, and yet, here I remain in bed.
I shoot up in a panic and look around. Everyone remains soundly asleep in their individual cots. So no one else is up either. At least I've not been left behind. As my eyes come into focus I realize that two cots lay empty- Isla's and Louis'. They must be in the bathroom or the mess hall or something like that.
I don't know whether I should go back to bed or not. Although my body longs for sleep I wonder if General Sanders will be mad that I'm staying in with all the other recruits. But if he hasn't come to fetch us, what is there really to do besides sleep?
I force myself to rest and lay back down. I reason- sleeping will help my leg get better- it serves a purpose. I'm not lounging needlessly- it's quite necessary. With that my eyes drift shut once more and it's another hour and half until I'm up.
I look around as I come to once again. Everyone still sleeps, like me, but Louis and Isla are still missing. I really doubt either of them would spare the extra sleep. Where the hell could they be?
My curiosity consumes me and I venture out of the dorm and into the common area. It's empty. I tip toe to the bathroom. It, too, is completely vacant. Even more confused, I check the mess hall, then the sports hall, then the gym, then the swimming pool. No sign of either Isla or Louis. I even take the trip up onto the field and the track. Neither of them are running laps, but I didn't think they would be. Where the hell could they be if not on base with the rest of us?
I return to the dorm to find that Sarah has woken. Maybe she knows something. As I sit beside her on my own bed, I whisper.
"Where's Isla?"
Sarah seems to notice her friend's absence for the first time and searches lazily around the dorm.
"No idea. Maybe she's getting breakfast."
I shake my head in response.
"She's not on base. I looked everywhere. Louis is gone, too." I inform her. Sarah's brows furrow and she checks the dorm once more.
"I have no idea." She ultimately responds, too tired to give me an explanation. I nod and turn my head away and notice others are starting to rise now. I watch as they all resume the same expression of panic I did when I first woke. When each individual realizes they're not late for training, they lay lazily and drift back to sleep.
"Where's Sanders?" Sarah starts with her own question. I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea why the General didn't come and wake us today when he has every other morning, but I won't question his methods. Maybe he believes we deserve a break after our 'test' yesterday, but I doubt it. Sanders doesn't seem like the caring type.
Soon enough Sarah and I rise and leave the dorm, eager for breakfast. I haven't eaten in nearly 12 hours and my stomach is gnawing at my insides. Once I'm satisfied Sarah and I are left to wonder about the absence of the two of our fellow recruits.
Slowly, more people amble in to eat. Unlike every other day, breakfast has been served at 10, not 6. Surprisingly, Mac takes the seat next to Sarah across from me.
"Good morning!" He greets us, quite chipper at that. I don't stifle my chuckle and smile widely at him.
"Someone's in a good mood." I remark. Mac laughs.
"It's not every day a man gets a full night's sleep." He tells chides, making both Sarah and I giggle. We carry on pleasant conversation for a while and for a time I forget all about Isla and Louis.
After another hour in the mess hall Harry finally decides to make an entrance. He wears his long sweatpants and a grey shirt. His hair sticks up in all different directions and his eyes are still puffy with sleep. I've never seen him in such a dishevelled state before, but don't make a comment. Having had his leg stitched up before his very eyes 12 hours ago, I'll give him a break. Just for today.
Another half an hour passes and finally, General Sanders makes an appearance.
"Recruits! I'm trusting you're all well rested." The General starts loudly. Everyone replies with a curt 'yes sir' and Sanders expression remains blank as he continues on.
"If you haven't noticed, two of your fellow recruits are missing..." He says. So he does have an explanation. No one makes a sound while he talks, but people do look around searchingly. They must all have the same question on their mind.
"Well, you'll be pleased to know they've been eliminated. They're out of the program. The 8 of you will continue on without them." The General informs us, rather bluntly at that. I feel a sinking feeling in my chest that Isla will no longer be around- she was sort of a friend, after all- but quickly silence it. I won't be seeing any of these people ever again in a month and a half.
"I've got another announcement." The General starts, much to everyone's surprise. What else could he possibly have to tell us?
"The board has decided that we're going to be needing more than one agent by the end of this program. So, in a few days each of you will be paired with a partner. This will be your partner throughout training and throughout your real missions with MI6. Both you and your partner must do well, or neither of you will become agents." The General informs us.
For a moment, my entire body goes numb. My mind races at a million miles an hour. How can this be possible? I signed up for this program confident I would win, but that confidence stemmed from the fact that I know I'm the best. I don't know the skills of the others here. Judging by the fact that I've almost beat all of them, I can't help but think they're going to drag me down.
A sweat breaks across my forehead. This has to be a joke. It must be. What if I'm paired with Liam or Niall? I barely know them. Sarah is great as a friend, but I can't imagine doing agent work with her. Mac is sweet, but being sweet won't get a person anywhere in MI6. Victoria's just a bitch- I don't want to work with her- and...
Harry.
What if I'm paired with Harry?
Dread fills my veins and I have to stop myself from collapsing. What if I'm forced to work with Harry? It's simply impossible. We don't get along. We never will. If I'm chosen to be an agent based off my work with Harry, I know I'll never make it.
Oh, god.
"How will our partners be selected? Randomly?" Liam has the courage to question from the table to my right. General Sanders turns his gaze to outspoken boy, obviously surprised he's asked a question out of turn, but does not shout.
"You'll be paired based off of compatibility. We've been watching you for the past 2 weeks and we will for the next few days. Then we'll make decisions." The General answers.
Compatibility? But I'm not compatible with anyone here, at least not that I know of. This is not good.
"Anyway, today we're doing combat training. Be in the sports hall in 5 minutes." The General states before walking out of the mess hall purposefully. Great. To add onto the bad news of my future partner, I now have to get my ass kicked by every other recruit while dealing with a puncture wound in my thigh.
I clean up my table and then proceed with everyone else to the sports hall. My shoulders droop and I can't help the frown of worry on my face. If the General is observing us so closely, I'm afraid that my unsatisfactory combat skills may get me booted out of the program. I know this time is supposed to be practice, but so far I've not learnt anything new. How am I to get better when nobody is telling me how? There's not many resources around.
We all stand in a line next to the ring. Sanders calls Sarah and Liam up to fight first. I watch as Sarah lands a few punches to Liam's chest, he counters with a kick to the side, and then she hooks her arm around his neck and takes him down. Impressive.
Next up is Victoria and Mac. It's not long before the wind is knocked out of Victoria and she's on her back, tapping out. I have to give Mac credit- he's a good fighter.
"Rosy and Niall." Sanders calls. I look to him quickly and find a white clipboard in his hand. He watches me scrupulously, like a hawk. I take a large breath and walk into the ring. Niall stands opposite me and I raise my hands in anticipation. I hope beyond hope that he doesn't target my legs.
The whistle blows and I hold my breath. Niall throws a swing but I side step and punch him squarely in the rib cage. My knuckles sting from the contact, but the adrenaline flowing through me silences the pain for now.
Disoriented, Niall stumbles and I take the opportunity to move behind him. I stretch my good leg out and land a hard kick to his back. He's pushed onto his hands and knees and I take my opportunity to kick him in the side again. I know he's already down, but I'm not taking any chances.
I move forward behind him and wrap my arm around his neck, just waiting for him to tap out. Maybe I've really done it this time.
After a few seconds I can feel him getting weaker, but then he lets out a grunt and rises to his knees. He swiftly falls onto his back, taking me with him and squishing me underneath the weight of his body.
I let out a scream of frustration. It doesn't matter what I do. It doesn't matter what position I'm in. Someone is always going to be stronger than me, and I don't know how to stop them from simply picking me up and slamming me down.
With the wind knocked out of me, it's only seconds before Niall's hands are around my throat and I'm tapping out.
He gets up and I huff with frustration before stomping out of the ring. I'm never going to get the fucking hang of this.
Next, I'm paired with Victoria. She may not be much stronger than me, but she seems to know more technique. She side steps every swing I try to throw and counters expertly. With her quick jabs I don't stand a chance and in 5 minutes I'm back down on my back.
Again, as I tap out, I don't stop the shout of frustration that escapes me. Because that's what this situation is: frustrating. How the fuck am I going to prove to the general I'm ready when I can't take a single recruit down?
A few more pairings are listed off, and then my name is called again.
"Rosy and Harry." Sanders calls. My heart skips a beat. First of all, I hate Harry, and I don't want to be near him. I don't care if he helped me patch up my leg or I helped him patch up his. He's still an asshole, plain and simple. Second of all, I'll admit I'm sort of scared. Watching Harry take down every other partner of his within seconds, even with his injured leg, is intimidating.
I step into the ring and watch as Harry does the same. We stand across from each other. I'm tempted to go for his thigh, knowing I'll win, but not even I can sink to so low of a level. No, I'll leave his thigh alone, and for some reason I know he'll leave mine alone, too.
The whistle blows and my hands are up. Harry stands complacently, just waiting. I'm determined to beat him, but I know my odds aren't good. We stand staring at each other for a few seconds, but I can't take the silence and charge forward.
I try to tackle Harry to the ground. I place a firm blow to his stomach before pushing all my weight against him. I have to admit, the one good thing about fighting Harry is I'm able to hit him all I like without getting in trouble.
He barely seems to register my attack, only swaying slightly. With myself so close to him, he easily wraps his hands around my waist and swings me in the air, tossing me to the ground a few feet away.
I see him start to walk towards me while I lay on the ground. His limp is barely noticeable. I'm sure I only catch it because I already know about the wound which lays beneath his trousers. I remind myself I'm not to go for his weak spot and instead scramble to my feet.
As he's about to swing his leg and kick me I roll away and surface behind him. This is where I went wrong last time, but what else can I do? Giving myself time to think, I kick the inside of Harry's knee, the one on his uninjured leg.
He buckles to the ground, but twists around as he does so. Without hesitating he reaches out, grabs me by the scruff of my collar, and slams me face down onto the cold ground of the ring. Luckily none of the bones in my face break, but my hands and forearms and shoulders ache from taking the brunt of the force.
As Harry moves to get into a better position I try to spin around to face him, but he's too quick. I manage to flip onto my back, but in a second his knees are straddling me and his hands are around my throat. I'm forced to tap out yet again.
"Fuck!" I yell, more frustrated than I've ever been in my entire life. Harry gets off of me and I storm out of the ring. I take my place in the line of other recruits, but thankfully General Sanders dismisses us.
Ignoring everyone else, I stalk out of the sports hall. My shoulders are high and tensed. My face seems set in a permanent frown. I can't release my hands from the fists they have created, and every step I take is like thunder. I don't know how much more of this I can take.
If only I could get better. But how the hell am I going to do that? I know I'm tiny, and it helps me in a lot of areas, but not this one. If all my enemies are simply able to pick me up and throw me to the side, how will I ever win? It's not like I can grow a foot taller.
I growl in frustration as I walk through the mess hall and down a narrow hallway. I'm definitely not in the mood to be around anyone right now, especially not Harry. Im sure he won't let me forget the fact that he beat me in less than 30 seconds.
For hours I remain upset. Walking and sitting and pacing. I spend a few hours up on the track, trying to run. My thigh begins to ache, and I decide it may be better to get some rest. However, when I return to the dorm everybody else is already asleep, and I really don't feel like being around them.
I pad back out of the dorm and into the hallway I started in earlier today. It's well past lights out, but I couldn't care less. All I want is to be alone, as I have been the whole day. My failure in combat is still the only thing I can think about, and I hate it. I've never dealt well with losing, and this is just proof. I like to win. I like to be the best. I like to be in control and know what I'm doing. Right now, that seems impossible.
As I walk down the grey, empty hallway I notice one of the usual doors to my right is unlocked. These doors are never unlocked, unless of course we're using the single gray room at the beginning of the hallway to take a knowledge test. Or nearly drown.
The fact that this door, very far down the hallway and quite isolated, is open now, peaks my interest. What the hell? I might as well look inside. What I discover may even take my mind off combat training.
I inch forward and find a glow emanates from the cracked door. I listen from outside for a moment, but don't hear any sound. Assuming no one is inside, I take quiet steps until I come to stand at the gap in the door and peer inside.
For some reason, the set up reminds me of the room Harry discovered while we were playing capture the flag just last week. In fact, this entire situation reminds of the time we encountered the odd, restricted room in the abandoned building- the darkness, the sole open door, the flashing electronic lights- it's like de ja vu. This time, though, Harry isn't here to fuck everything up.
I push the door open slowly and take a closer look into the room. There are 3 computers lining 2 large desks against the far wall. On these screens, I don't entirely understand what I'm seeing. I find missile icons and what look to be codes.
On another screen is a map of Europe with large red crosses in certain locations- one in Germany, one in France, even one in Manchester. What the hell does that mean? If I didn't know any better, these would seem like target locations for missile drops.
But how could they be? MI6 would never bomb Germany or France, let alone Manchester. I must be interpreting something wrong.
I'm about to step inside to take a closer look, maybe even search through some files, when I feel a strong grip on my arm.
My breath seizes and my heart-rate increases rapidly. For a moment, I fear I've been caught by General Sanders. After I'm gagged and a black bag is slipped over my head, I realize my situation is much worse.
Immediately I begin to scream, but I find the sound is muffled by a dirty rag that's been stuffed in my mouth. I can barely breath, and find that 2 pairs of arms come to lift and drag me back down the hall, away from the room.
Surely this can't be punishment for discovering the computers, so what the hell is it?
I wail and kick and try to punch to the best of my ability, but just like during combat training I find it's no use. I can't use sheer strength to break away from the people holding me, but I don't know enough technique to escape any other way.
A few seconds and I feel as if we may be near the dorm. I try to scream, but one of my captors slams their hand over my mouth and then kicks me in the leg to stop my struggling. Instantly pain shoots up my thigh and down my calf. They've landed a solid blow to my shot wound, and I'm afraid that they've broken the thin scab that had begun to form.
I cry out in pain and my left leg is left limp and lifeless. The two abductors continue to drag me forward, but the pain emanating from my thigh inhibits me from fighting back. I feel tears stinging my eyes from the pain. I try to scream to the best of my ability, but I'm afraid of what they might do to my leg if I continue.
So, I'm dragged against my will for about 3 minutes before we finally stop moving. My arms are pulled together behind my back so violently I swear my shoulder could be dislocated. I cry out, but can't do much to resist as I feel a nylon rope roughly wrapped around my hands, limiting my movement.
I try to swing my body harshly in an attempt to take out one of my captors, but find that they can use their sight and I can't. I have absolutely no idea what's going on. I don't know who has grabbed me, what they want, or what they're going to do.
"Listen up." Someone speaks from behind me. It's a male, but they lower their voice and make it gruff. I can't tell exactly who it is through the bag over my head. At the sound, I struggle more and cry out in fear.
"You're going to stop coming first in everything, got it? Stop beating us at every fucking test." The person speaks again. Although I'm terrified, my mind sparks. So these are jealous recruits who have taken me. But which ones?
I don't nod. I only scream. I feel another blow to the back of my head and squeak before going silent again.
"I'm going to take the gag out of your mouth. If you scream, I'll kill you." The recruit tells me and I believe them. I slowly nod and I feel a beefy hand reach up through the hood over my head and pull out the spit-riddled cloth.
"So, answer me. You're going to stop making us look bad, right?" They question again. Beneath my hood my brow furrows and my mouth sneers in disgust.
"Fuck you." Is the only thing I can think to respond. I'm not going to fail anything if I can help it, and I'm not risking my shot at becoming an agent because of some threatened idiots. I expect another blow, but instead I feel a hand push me forward. Already on my knees, I think my face will hit the floor, but instead my head is submerged underwater. I'm at the pool.
The person holds me under the water for a long time. I struggle and try to kick my legs, use my arms, do anything, but I can't. Nothing seems to stop my attackers. Finally, I'm allowed back up for air. As soon as I surface I take in a huge breath and splutter. My lungs are full of water, my head is ringing, and I can barely hear.
"Wrong answer. Are you going to stop making us look bad?" The recruit asks once again. This time, I resolve to stay completely silent. I don't want them to know I'm afraid, and I'm sure if I speak it'll become clear. The attackers don't seem to appreciate my sullen silence.
The hand returns to my head and back down I go into the water. Having been prepared this time, I take a deep breath as I'm forced under. I struggle and kick again, but don't bother using all my energy. There's no need to waste oxygen at a time like this.
I'm allowed to surface after another minute. I receive a kick to my side and go sprawling across the floor. The bag over my head, now soaked, drips onto my mouth and nose, making it hard to breath.
"Maybe you think you stand a chance now, but you don't. Stop coming first or we'll have to get rid of you." The boy tells me. I still can't figure out who it is. Being deprived of oxygen and freezing cold, my senses are not working to the best of their ability.
Still laying on my side, I'm dragged by my collar of my shirt to the metal ladder which sticks out of the pool. My hands are untied for a second, but only so that they can be rewrapped, this time around the metal pole.
Someone punches me in the face, and then I hear two pairs of footsteps walking away, leaving me here, tied and bloody. What the hell am I supposed to do?
I resign to sitting, back against the pole while my hands remain tied around it. The black bag still hangs over my head, sopping wet. Air doesn't come easily through soaking cotton, but I manage.
I try to worm my hands out of the rope, but it's tied so tightly I doubt I have a chance. I try to think of a solution to my situation, but all I can do is sit silently. What if this is some sort of fucked up test? I'm scared that if I call for help I'll be seen as incompetent.
Then again, I doubt that getting waterboarded would be part of training protocol. Although, they did try to drown all of us just yesterday. Unsure of my situation, I decide that screaming for help may be risky. My attackers may come back, or I may fail the test if this even is one.
After a few minutes I feel a warmth begin to spread under my thighs, as if I'm sitting in a pool of warm water, although I know it's not water. Those assholes did open the cut on my leg. I'm quite aware of the thick blood that must now surround me. I hope it doesn't seep into the pool- that would be gross.
My predicament seems to grow worse as I find I'm unable to free my hands, and unable to stop my leg from bleeding. Although the pain isn't so bad anymore, I still don't like the idea of an open wound on my leg bleeding out. It's a bit ironic that my cut wasn't fucked up today during combat training, but it is now. If it weren't for every other thing going on, I might even laugh.
Suddenly, I remember the small knife strapped to the side of my ankle. I would be excited, but seeing as my hands are all but useless, there's no way for me to use it... unless... If I can't bring my hands to my ankle, I'll bring my ankle to my hands.
I shimmy the rope down the metal pole so my hands rest on the cool tile of the ground. I lay myself down on my side, ignoring the sting of my leg, and bend my knees. I must resemble something like the fetal position, but with my legs bent the opposite direction and my hands behind me.
Slowly, I inch my ankles closer and closer to my hands. After a minute my fingers come into contact with my the toe of my boot, then my laces, and then my ankle. I haven't bent my back like this in ages, but I do remember my reputation of flexibility back at Oxford.
My fingers come into contact with my knife. I begin slowly, afraid that if I act hastily I will knock the weapon into the water less than a foot away from me. I don't have much time to worry about that, though, as I hear somebody walking towards me. If my captors are back, I'm screwed.
Finally regaining my common sense, as the footsteps grow closer, I hastily grab the knife and take it between my fingers. Holding it tightly, I flip the blade so it's positioned against the rope binding me. I begin to saw at the nylon, but only make it halfway through before I sense the other person standing right in front of me.
"Don't fucking touch me!" I cry, kicking my legs out wildly. My thigh aches but I ignore it. Knife now in hand, I can bend my knees back out and thrash them around to keep the unknown person at bay.
I finally break through the rope and my hands come loose. Instantly I've removed the soggy sack from over my head, then I'm lunging forward. The person standing before me doesn't expect this, and I tackle them to the ground easily.
I only find once I've landed a hard punch to the person's jaw that it's Harry. He cries out in pain and pushes me away.
"What the hell?!" He cries, rubbing his jaw as he glares at me incredulously.
"Get the fuck away from me!" I yell. Of course it was Harry. Why would I have expected anyone else but him to attack me? I lay on the ground, but still kick my legs out towards him. I watch as he sits up, one palm holding his face, but he doesn't come any nearer.
In fact, his entire demeanour doesn't seem aggressive at all. If he were one of my captors, wouldn't he be trying to get me back into my restraints?
"I didn't tie you up! I didn't! I swear!" Harry proclaims, and from the tone of his voice I know he's telling the truth. It's not often that Harry's genuine, but it's clear he's being so now.
"Then what the fuck are you doing here?" I question harshly. My heart is still pumping hard and my leg is still bleeding quite noticeably. I really don't have the ability to be nice right now.
"I thought I heard shouting so I came to see what was going on..." Harry explains. I watch him closely for a second, inspecting his expression for guilt, but I find none.
"Do you know who did this?" I desperately ask, my interest peaking. If he heard shouting maybe he saw my attackers returning from the scene of the crime. Harry only shrugs.
"No, I didn't see anybody. If anyone was gone from the dorm, it's too dark to notice." He tells me. I sigh in disappointment, and slowly come to sit up. I want to stand, but not until I've patched up my leg again.
As I look down to my blood soaked pants Harry follows my gaze.
"Got you in the leg?"
I roll my eyes and nod. Does he really need to ask?
"Do you want my help?" Harry, surprisingly, asks. I look up to him curiously. Why would he offer me help for a second time?
"Not particularly, but seeing as no one else is coming..." I answer, annoyed at the thought of Harry touching me.
"You know, you could just be grateful." He tells me, brows furrowing as he registers my snarky response.
"Why is it always you who has to find me when I'm like this?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is a bad thing."
This time it's Harry's turn to look confused. He sighs, but does not counter with a scathing comment of his own. Instead, he continues the onslaught of questions:
"What happened?"
I remain puzzled. The fact that he even cares enough to ask is shocking.
"Two of the recruits... They took me and tied me up. Told me to stop winning everything." I relay the events to Harry.
"You don't win everything."
"Not the point." I scowl up at him. I see the trace of a smirk play over his lips. "They waterboarded me but I wouldn't agree so they left me here." I shrug. Now that I'm not in direct danger, my mind starts to process the events of the last 10 minutes. Who the hell would do this? Are they not afraid of being caught? If they were caught, would they even get in trouble? General Sanders doesn't have much of a heart, after all.
"Well, you should be flattered." Harry responds from in front of me. I can't help the large scoff that escapes.
"You can't be serious..."
"It's not everyday someone gets jealous enough of your accomplishments to... waterboard you." Harry stifles a chuckle. I can't believe he's laughing at me right now, but what I simply don't believe is that I want to laugh, too. This isn't really a funny situation, but for some reason I can't help my amusement...
"Whatever. Anyway, you said you were gonna help me. Stop talking." I change the topic quickly. I expect for Harry to deliver some mean response, but instead only watch as the smirk on his face grows larger.
"Hey! It's like you're me and I'm you." He states. I look to him, confused.
"What?"
"Well, yesterday you were the one stitching up my leg."
"Yeah, but I don't remember talking this much before I did. Get on with it already." I command. Although Harry and I are having such an amiable conversation for once, I'm anxious to stop the blood seeping from my leg. I'm afraid of what I'll find once I remove my pants, and pray that the damage done tonight has not caused further injury to my leg. If Harry's right, and I need stitches like him, I know it will be even longer until my thigh is healed.
Luckily, tonight I wear lose sweatpants. Begrudgingly, I pull the waist down over my thighs and shimmy them down enough to expose my injury. I don't care to watch Harry's reaction. The fact that I've got to be so bare in front of him for the second time this week is not something I'm proud of.
I watch as he stands and retreats to the changing room adjacent to the swimming pool. Within a minute he's returned with a first-aid kit. I scoot myself up so I can lean against the pole of the ladder leading into the pool, and sit still as Harry comes to kneel beside my injury.
"You know, you've really gotta stop letting stuff happen to your leg." Harry reprimands as he wipes my injury with a cloth doused in disinfectant. I want to scream at the sting, but his words take me off guard.
"If you hadn't noticed, it's not entirely within my control." I retort. Why must he always say the most ridiculous things? It's not like I want my leg to be constantly slashed open. Harry moves closer to inspect my wound once it's clean.
"Sure it is." He says nonchalantly. I want to scoff again, but attempt to keep myself composed.
"And how exactly is that?"
"Just stop annoying everybody." He tells me, quite calmly at that. The slow, steady heat of anger starts to flow through my veins once again, as it always does when I'm around Harry. This conversation once again proves that if Harry and I can get along, it's doesn't last for long.
"Or how about everybody stops being so unreasonable and stupid." I counter, utterly annoyed now. He's seriously trying to blame me for all the harm that's befallen my leg? Me?
"Hey! I'm not unreasonable or stupid."
"And yet you shot your own teammate in the leg. You know, you wouldn't be here stitching me up right now if you weren't so unreasonable and stupid." I huff. Harry stays silent for a second, choosing not to respond to my comment.
"You're going to need stitches." He tells me.
"You've got to be kidding me..." I groan. Harry reaches out to grab the sewing needle and thread just as I did last night and I freeze. "Do you even know how to do stitches?" I question incredulously. Harry shrugs.
"I watched you do it last night, how hard can it be? Besides, it won't be that many. Don't be a pussy."
My eyes widen in disbelief at his harsh words, but I can't think of a clever response as I realize I'm going to have to get my leg sewn up before my very eyes. Harry reaches for the needle of anaesthesia in the first-aid kit but I reach my hand out to stop him.
"It's fine. I don't need it if it's only a few." I tell him, going against my better judgement. Harry arches his brow.
"I know I just called you a pussy, but you don't have to prove me wrong." He says, and I can actually see a gleam of pity in his eyes. I roll my own.
"I don't do everything because of you. Just get on with it." I state coldly, awaiting my painful fate. Neither of us wear a belt tonight, so I'm resigned to toughing it out.
Harry wastes no time threading the string through the needle and plunging it beneath my skin. I suck a harsh breath in as I feel the unbearable sting of metal puncturing my flesh, but try my hardest to stop from flinching. Within a minute the first stitch is over with. Harry works in silence.
5 more minutes and only 3 more stitches later, Harry declares he's done. I watch as he ties off the thread holding my wound together and discards the needle. The bleeding has already significantly lessened, and although the ache in my leg is beyond words, I'm grateful it's no longer open.
"See! Not so bad! Look how even the stitches are." Harry remarks, examining his handy work closely as if my leg is a knitted sweater. I make no response.
"Oh, come on! Lighten up, Frasier. We're matching now, after all." Harry continues, referring to our eerily similar soon-to-be matching scars. I don't know if he's mocking me or he's genuinely in a good mood, but his cheerful tone is freaking me out.
"Thank you. Again." Is all I can force myself to say. I am thankful for Harry's intervention, I have to be, but I'm no happier that it was him who ended up helping me once more. I'd rather it be anyone else. Having a debt owed to Harry is something that I definitely don't want.
I hoist myself up and stand before pulling my pants up. Although the pain from the stitches invades my mind, I find I can walk well enough. In the morning, hopefully, the ache will be gone. Harry chuckles before spinning around and trotting away without another word, leaving me to put away the first aid kit. Of course his kindness wouldn't last for long.
I don't call after him with a rude comment, and instead obligingly stow the med kit safely back in the changing room. Once I've returned to the dorm, I eye my surroundings suspiciously. Whoever the fuck did this to me, and I expect I'll find out soon enough, is going to pay for their actions. For now, without a name to the mysterious voice who abducted me, I have no one to blame.
So, I retreat to my bed and lay down to sleep. The worries of the day seem to escape me now. As I drift off, the small dagger which usually resides in my sock comes to rest tightly in the grip of my fist just under my pillow. If another attack comes, I'll be ready.