CROSS MY HEART // dystopian romance

5. paths crossing

     I wake up in an estranged bedroom, with floral wallpaper and mint green cushions. I am not in my cold white cabin in the bunker. This bed is comfortable and large, and it makes me want to sleep forever.

When I dare try and sit up, the world goes spinning around me for a few seconds, and plained whine escapes my lips.

"Woah, easy there." a deep soft voice rushes toward me.

I instantly reach for my pocket, on my guard.

"Looking for your knife ?" the guy asks. "We put it away for now. Simple mesure of safety."

"You mean your safety." I reply, my eyebrows joined together in a frown. "Not so sure about mine."

I look over at him. The daylight illuminates his face. He is massive. He has broad shoulders and seems unbelievably tall, completely bald and he's built large and slightly overweight. Just enough to be a rugbyman. He has flawless dark skin and gentle eyes, with an awkward smile that breaks the imposing impression of him. He makes me think of a giant teddy bear.

"We need to know if we can trust you first." he says.

"Where are am I ?" I question him after marking a long pause.

"Still in the house. We found shelter here." he sighs. "We plan to leave when the Dead-Alives out front go away. Soon they'll go back to the big city, there's more human flesh there."

His hands are freakishly big, and I flinch and move back when they come at my head.

"Stay back !" I order him, my hands in fists.

He chuckles lightly, and shows me his palms open.

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid." he assures me. "I'm just checking your wound. Grace asked me to. She's been tending to it for two days."

My eyes go wide at his comment. Two days ? I've been unconscious for two whole days ? When I think about it, I realize I don't feel so tired anymore. If being knocked out is what can make finally sleep, I should do it more often.

Now, my attention gets back to the man at my bedside. The thought hits me hard : this is the first alive person I've properly talked to in two and a half years. He's not from here, that's for sure. I think everyone's dead here, and it was a close-knit community kind of town. My family and I knew everyone in Crimson Valley, so naturally, I would know him if he was local.

I don't know why, but I let him check my injury. The feeling of someone else than me touching my scalp feels weird, it's been a long time.

"I'm surprise you haven't tied me up to the bed." I observe nonchalantly. "What's up with that ? Think I'm not much of a threat ?"

He chuckles again, his hands leaving the back of my head alone. He mumbled something that seems to approve of my healing process.

"Listen kid, we're not freaks." he shakes his head left to right slowly. "But we've all seen how deadly you were back there. Don't need to tie you up when I'm in the room though."

"What ? You think I couldn't stab you and run out of here ?"

"I have no doubt you could. But not without your little knives."

I look around me, then my gaze falls onto the window by the desk. I hide a smirk. I could easily break the glass and use it as a weapon. I'm good with anything sharp.

"I have my resources."

He gets up from the bedside chair, and he is huge. I'd say about six foot five tall or something. Suddenly, I'm not so sure about my fighting skills anymore.

"Don't go making ennemies where there shouldn't be, Heart-slayer."

"What did you call me ?"

"We didn't know your name, and Mihan started calling you the Heart-slayer. Instead of the girl upstairs with weird hair." he says casually. "Mihan was impressed by that heart-ripping thing you did."

I'm about to tell him my real name, but then I restrain myself. I don't trust him. It's better if he doesn't know my identity.

"Who's Mihan ?" I simply ask.

"The youngest of us." he answers. "He's the one who shot the Dead-Alive to help you."

"Does he know that shooting them in the head doesn't kill them ? It just slows them down."

"He's only twelve." he replies, which shuts me up instantly. Milo is a year younger than James. "He doesn't usually shoot. He uses a slingshot."

After a long, awkward blank, my curiosity takes over. "Who are you ?"

"They call me Big Ben."

"Like the tower ?"

"Like the tower."

I'm expecting him to ask me my name back, but oddly, he doesn't. He stays quiet, and looks at me, like he's waiting for me to ask all my questions. I take this as an opportunity.

"You keep saying we..." I try and get up from the bed, but my head feels a bit dizzy. I stumble a bit, and Big Ben rushes to hold me up. I keep talking like my pride didn't just take a hit. "Who exactly is we ? How many people are in your group ?"

"You're goddamn curious, kid." he sighs, defeated. "We're four in total, used to be six."

I look at him with insistence, as a sign for him to continue his little speech.

"There's me, Mihan, his older sister Althea, and Scar."

"Scar, really ?" I scoff at the impossibility of that name.

"Elan Turner." he grins. "But Mihan has a thing for nicknames."

"I'm starting to get that." I mutter under my breath. "I'm going downstairs."

"Take a shower first. Change clothes. You stink."

"Real nice." I scoff, then double check the mirror by the dresser. "Oh shit."

My clothes look wine stained, and my half-red hair cannot be told apart from the dried blood. I look horrendous. And I do stink.

"Yeah." He mumbles. "Clean up. Then come downstairs. Milo's been dying to talk to you."

I'm not exactly thrilled to speak with other people, but I'm certainly eager to get my stuff back. I'll get my food, and my knives, and go back to the bunker. Alone.