Super?

We Are Fallen

I wake up with my cheek pressed up against something cold and rough. For a moment I lay there, swimming in my pain, before I conclude that I can feel a breeze stirring at my ruined clothes and my gashed skin. My eyes flutter open reluctantly, and that's when I realize I'm no longer in the garish dungeon-room. I'm not even indoors. And I'm no longer in the syndicate's clutches, if the familiar sounds of the city around me are any indication.
The sky around me is as black as my mood feels at the moment, and I'm lying crumpled in a stereotypically grungy alleyway branching off of a rough-looking street. Only a single truck drifts by, headlights casting eerie shadows across the abandoned, skeletal buildings. I squint against the momentary brightness, watching as it drives right past me and disappears down into the darkness.
I shift myself into a sitting position, a long stream of curse words flooding from my mouth as I move. My leg definitely hasn't healed any. If anything, all of my wounds have gotten worse. Why isn't my healing factor working? How long had I been out? Long enough to be moved from the syndicate and here. Why would they do that anyway? If Gia had had her way, I would be six feet under the ground by now. Why spare me? I don't like this one bit. One again, I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only instead of a shoe, it's a semi fortified with metal spikes and loaded with anvils and chunks of concrete.
I don't know how long I lie there in silence, waiting for my leg to stop throbbing, but it's long enough that I'm drifting back into sleep again. It's only when I hear a voice that my eyes open again.
"Oh my God, is that a person?" It's a girl's voice. She sounds a bit younger than me, in her twenties at the most. I groan inwardly. Of course someone has to be wandering around the bad part of town at night. And by the sound of the male grumbling from beside her, she also has a boyfriend.
"Stay back, Melanie. It might just be someone homeless. You never know with this part of town," his voice is edged with disgust. Okay. Obviously a local. The two creep closer, their footsteps on the pavement sounding like twin jackhammers in my ears.
"Oh," I hear the girl breathe softly once they're close enough to get a good look at me. My skin prickles as I look at them both, feeling like a cornered cat. My mind is swimming too much for me to cast an illusion, and now it would be too late.
"She's awake," the guy bends down to look at me closer. I shrink backwards despite myself. I want nothing more than to run. But lucky me, my limbs don't seem to want to cooperate. "Can you hear me?" He addresses me in a calm, soft voice.
"Go away," blood drips from my mouth when I speak, my voice throaty and dry and my tongue tasting of metal.
"Jesus," the girl whispers. "Should we call the cops?" Panic seizes my heart like a bear trap, and it's taking all of the strength I have left not to punch one of them in the face and try to make a run for it. I would, but I'm pretty sure I would pass out before I made it more than a few feet. And then I would really be screwed.
"No cops," I insist. "Go away," my mouth is so dry that it makes speaking difficult. I wonder when the last time I had something to drink was. If I had been less proud, I would've asked Sebastian for some water back in the syndicate. Oh well.
"She's our age," the boy murmurs to the girl. Then he turns to me. His eyes shine when they catch the dim moonlight. "What's your name?" My heart skips a few more beats. Do I lie? Yes.
"Faith," I rasp. It's a name I've always hated, so it only seems fitting that I use it for myself.
"Who did this to you, Faith?" His face, or what I can see of it, is concerned but calm. He must have experience with screwed-up people in screwed-up situations. Maybe a police officer?
"A car," I laugh to myself, but it comes out as more of a sputtering, because blood leaks from my mouth and stains my shirt. Damn. I paid good money for this blouse.
"She's dying," the girl murmurs, obviously a fan of stating the obvious, "we need to call an ambulance." She's less composed than her male counterpart, but she doesn't seem too freaked for someone who just discovered a dying woman in their local alleyway in the middle of the night. Maybe the two are coworkers?
"No," I cough. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and I can't help but notice that my fingers are trembling. Traitors.
"Ma'am, with all due respect-"
"Leave me alone," I say. The two just stare at me, probably equally as frustrated with me. Serves them right.
"We're not going to leave you here. Anyway, what are you so afraid of? Oh, dear God, please tell me you're not a schizophrenic..."
"It's been said." I grin, and he continues to stare. "But it's not needless paranoia that causes my fear of all things government," I add, "so we're good there. Thanks for stopping by. It was nice knowing you."
The girl pulls out her phone and shines the light of the screen over me. I blink rapidly, and feel a pang of dread when both of their eyes widen in synchronization after taking in the extent of my injuries.
"It's not what you think-" I start.
"I think I'm going to be sick," the girl moans. Her phone clatters to the ground. Meanwhile her boyfriend just watches me with that stoic look as she vomits onto the pavement beside them. Creepy.
"How are you not dead right now?" No. No. This isn't happening. If he finds out that I have a healing factor, everything will go to hell.
"I'm too stubborn to die," I manage to smirk, even while my heart is frozen in mid-beat and my breathing becomes quick. No. No. Not another goddamn panic attack. This has been one hell of a week.
"I'm taking her to the apartment, Mel. Are you going to help me?" He doesn't even seem remotely concerned for his puking girlfriend. What a weirdo.
"She needs to go to ER, Greg! She doesn't need a bandaid!" Melanie whips around, wiping off her mouth with the hem of her t-shirt.
"There's no way you're taking me to a hospital," I insist, "because you're not taking me anywhere. Just leave me alone. I'll be fine."
"Fine? Are you- are you crazy? Your bone is sticking out of your leg and don't even get me started on your stomach- God. You must be crazy," the girl rambles. She's panicking now. I can see the shine of the perspiration dotting her forehead under the gleam of the moon.
"I am crazy. You should probably both go before I cannibalize both of you," I say. Melanie retrieves her phone and with shaking hands she begins to punch in a few digits on the keypad.
"No!" Greg's voice is sharp and Melanie startles, almost dropping the phone again. She looks at him now with that incredulous disbelief.
"You're both out of your damn minds. She's going to die if she doesn't get some medical attention soon-"
"I'm not going to die," I insist.
"In case you forgot, I am training to be a nurse-" he frowns at Melanie, "and my apartment and car are fully stocked in case of an emergency like this." Ah. A med school student. Figures.
"You're always trying to be a freaking hero, Greg, but I'm sorry to say that you still don't have superpowers and you're only a BSN, not a paramedic or an EMT someone remotely qualified to deal with situations like these. This is a woman's life we're talking about. You're not Crimson. You're Greg. Let the professionals handle this one. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. I know you're just trying to help but for God's sake, this woman is obviously crazy and she needs help," Melanie's face is reddened and her ponytail swishes angrily behind her when her head moves back and forth.
"You don't need to have superpowers to be a hero," Greg tells her softly. And before I know it, his arms are under my shoulders and they're gently lifting me up. I yelp, more out of surprise than pain.
"Put me down!" I panic as he holds me to his chest, bridal style, his other arm careful under my damaged leg. "Please! Don't- Don't."
"I'm not going to hurt you," he murmurs. "I promise," he starts to walk, and my breathing quickens even more. Melanie trails behind reluctantly.
"You don't understand. I'll be fine- I mean- just leave me alone. I don't need your help," I beg, glaring up at him. "Put me down."
"Would you rather I took you to the hospital?" he rumbles. At my reluctant expression, he nods. "That's what I thought."
"Just don't get any ideas," I mumble, looking down. "Don't go thinking I'm some damsel in distress."
"Don't worry. I didn't think that for one moment. You made sure of that," he sounds vaguely amused. Which is weird. This whole situation is weird.
"Oh, gag," Melanie mutters under her breath. "Careful, Greg. Keep it up and maybe you'll trick her into thinking you're straight. Or even remotely interested in romance at all." Greg just smiles.
"You two aren't dating?" I ask, trying to take my mind off of my leg. I always find meddling in others' personal lives to be distracting.
"Ugh. No. He's my half-brother and we both just got off the evening shift at Thompson Hospital. I volunteer in the children's ward. He's training to become a nurse and he's just finishing up his last year at some fancy med school upstate. Hence why he thinks he's able to treat you better than an actual certified nurse." She opens the door of a roomy SUV that I assume belongs to Greg. He sets me gently down across the row of seats in the back.
"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes when I hiss in pain. "It's only a short ride to my apartment and we're on the first floor, so there's no stairs to climb," he reassures me.
"You should've saved yourself the trouble altogether and left me there," I tell him. "You're wasting your time."
"He'll only take that as a challenge," Melanie tells me with an eye roll. "Don't bother."  She kneels down on the floor of the car so she's looking down at me and closes the door behind her. Greg gets in the driver's seat and glances back at us.
"Do you need anything?" He addresses me with a kind smile on his face. This is possibly one of the worst moments of my life. And that is saying something.
"A shot of morphine. Or some vodka. God, I would kill for a drink right now," I mumble into my hands. "It's been too long." I see Mel grin crookedly.
"We have some water in the trunk," she says, and at the same time Greg also speaks.
"How old are you anyway?" He's frowning in disapproval. Melanie rolls her eyes. I suspect they're both trying to distract me from my pain but that's pretty much impossible. I just want to get this over with. Greg starts the car and begins to drive as if he can tell what I'm thinking.
"Ignore him. He's 'alcohol abstinent' so he automatically thinks anyone who wants a beer is automatically an alcoholic lowlife," Melanie explains with a smirk. Greg just shakes his head, not even looking back at us.
"Well, I mean... I kind of am... So he's not entirely wrong there." They both give me strange looks this time. Ok. Too much info divulged. "Um... I mean... Forget it. I can't think because my leg hurts so bad. Don't listen to me," I bleat lamely. But I guess I'm not entirely lying there. My mind is feeling rather steamrolled at the moment.
"Don't worry. We'll have you there in a jiffy," he says, still with a look of suspicion dawning his face.
"Nobody says 'jiffy' anymore. Dork," Melanie scoffs. This is going to be a very long ride.