Because favours are priced...
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"You have an insatiable desire for trouble Camille Sanders. You'll never just be satisfied. You're like me, too wild for the world."
I laugh at the outrageousness. "You're dramatic I'll give you that Michae...
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Darkness. Complete and utter darkness. Pitch black. That's all I see. Is this what hell looks like? So abandoned? Or is this my personal hell? A complete void of nothingness to spend eternity in. Fitting because at least this way I don't manage to ruin everything I touch.
Why do all my limbs hurt? Ugh. My eyes are still shut. I didn't want to open them. But I knew I had to.
Blinding light hits my eyes and I hiss in reply. My throat is dry and vision blurred. Slowly it adjusts to the room, which was painted a dull yellow, fading with mould stains growing at the bottom. The ceiling had asbestos and looked ready to collapse on top of me.
Where am I? I shift and feel the rough rope around my wrists, burning into my skin. I sit upright and find a black cloth beside me. No it was a bag. That's why I remember so much darkness. I don't remember anything else after the grey road...
Dean, the story, Michael, Isaac, the hospital, Oliver, the bike, Belinda- I shot her. And I ran.
I could still feel the weight of the gun, the searing sound. And the blood. I had to run...right?
Oh god. The car crash. I crashed into black truck. Well the stupid black truck crashed into me. God were they stupid? Tears prickle my eyes at the rush of emotions that come with the memories of the past 24 hours. Had it even been 24 hours?
My head hurt. The air bag had burst open, but it wasn't enough. I hit the side of the door at the impact of the crash. No wonder my entire left side is throbbing with pain. The glass had been scattered all over the leather seats I loved, right before my eyes shut, seeing my broken phone still dialling someone.
God was I concussed?
I groan as the back of my head started to throb. Leaning back against the wall I was near; I sigh in pain. Just then, the door opens and a figure walks in.
"I see our princess is up."
The figure still unclear to me, squats in front of me, meeting my eye level. That's when I recognise the soul sucking black eyes, and dark hair under the hoodie.
Bruce...Wayne? Willis? Walden? Wa-What? Okay, I was definitely concussed.
"Hey, Bruce...what's your last name?"
He frowns at my question. Clearly he didn't know what a concussion looked like. "What?" He grits his teeth, very annoyed.
"I think I'm concuc- concussed. Because I don't remember your last name. And I know you definitely have one."
"God, you talk too much." And without warning he stuffs a rag into my mouth. I gagged at the salty taste of it and prayed there was no blood or sweat on it.
Who am I kidding? Both of that could be what I was tasting!
"Keep struggling, you're only making it worse for yourself girl." He stands back up and sits on a metal chair, observing me with a sadistic glint in his eye. My outfit was ruined and bloodied, the bottom part of my night shirt, splotched red.
