Lost in London [Completed]

Un

Kay ached. All over. He opened his eyes and flinched at the bright light. Light. Daylight. He pushed himself so he was upright, glancing around in panic. No plain walls, no dusty light swinging from above. Nothing. He was just... just outside. It hit him then that his hands were free. There was nothing in sight – nobody in sight. He almost didn't want to move. Kay just wanted to sit here for longer, in the grass, and breathe in air which hadn't stagnated for months on end. Something told him that he couldn't.

He yielded after several minutes, shakily standing up to get a better look at where he was. Kay flinched harshly when he put pressure on his left wrist, pulling it sharply into his body. Fuck, that had hurt. He was surrounded by what looked like farmland. Empty fields stretched around him, which was a relief. Nobody could be standing and watching him. For whatever reason, he'd been dumped here, alone. Alive.

Still holding his injured arm close to him, Kay decided just to head forward. He could have headed in any direction, but how was he to know which was best? It wasn't like he knew where he was. Briefly, his mind wandered to his fiancé, but he shook his head, hoping to physically break apart those thoughts. Not important, not right now.

Kay eventually came to a stop when he heard traffic. Cars seemed few and far between, but he knew what he'd heard. After pausing for a much needed breather, he kept walking. It was several more minutes before he spotted the road, and that was the final push he needed. Kay stumbled down the slanted grass field and crossed the road, not even bothering to look.

That was when he spotted what looked like a café, or bed and breakfast, or something. They could tell him where he'd ended up. He would be able to get home. If it was still there any more. God, how long had he been gone? More than six months, he knew that. Something about plain grey boxes made you lose your mind. The whole concept of time dissipated long before that.

The sign above the door read 'le Jardin'. Kay thought nothing of that as he stepped inside, the bell above the door a harsh reminder of his fiancé's coffee shop. After glancing around and realising nobody was paying him any attention, he headed up to the empty counter, having to prepare himself to ask what, to anyone else, would sound like an insane question. Or set of questions. It all depended on how long he was able to stay before getting kicked out.

"Hey – hey, I need to know where I am. What state?" He asked leaning forward onto the counter and waving his right hand to get the barista's attention. His left was still firmly against his torso.

"Avez-vous besoin d'une ambulance? Police?"

Kay blinked in surprise at the response and shook his head quickly at the mention of police. Had he hit his head? It would have had to have been hard for... for this. Whatever this was.

"No – no... English? No police, no paramedics. English," Kay was still shaking his head. Why would he need an ambulance? It was then that he glanced down and cringed. Dark red stains were practically covering his shirt and some of his jeans. All old. But to anyone else, he must look a sight.

"Non, tu es au Luxembourg, pas en Angleterre," was the response he got. "Pas d'ambulance? Vous avez du sang partout sur vous!"

Kay could pick out two words. Luxembourg and ambulance.

"No, don't call an ambulance," He argued and made a vague gesture with his hands out of frustration. "I need someone who speaks English. I don't know what you're saying." It was more than likely his blank look gave it away.

"Quelqu'un parle-t-il bien l'anglais? Je pense que celui-ci vient de l'hôpital psychiatrique d'Oakstead," the barista had raised his voice to address other patrons and laughed.