Little Bird

I emerged from darkness feeling disoriented to say the least. Hot, too. My head was burning with intense heat, as if someone had lit a match off inside my skull, leaving raging fire to occupy my thoughts and drown my mind. My whole body felt heavy, weighed down with undeniable exhaustion that had settled deep in the marrow of my bone. My hands managed to twitch after a while, and I prized open my eyelids that had fallen heavy.
My vision was blurry, impaired with spots of black like odd squirts of ink on paper. I blinked several times; my eyesight taking a few moments to register anything other than darkness, but eventually the black smudges began to subside, until disappearing altogether – leaving a plain white ceiling in sight.
I attempted to sit upright, lips pressing together as I released a groan and tried quelling the nausea that had my stomach rolling sickly. Both my arms moved to help me push my body up, but my brow creased in confusion when my right hand was restricted and I could only heave myself up with my left. Wearily, my eyes travelled to the right of me to find my wrist captured in a cuff that partnered with another on the bed frame; and then, with wide eyes I soaked in my own appearance. I was dressed in oversized t-shirt that even lying down reached mid-thigh along with my own underwear.
"Oh my god," I breathed.
I tried racking my brain for memory on what had happened, tugging hopelessly at my cuffed wrist as I did so, the metal restraint hard against my soft flesh. Was this a joke? I was meant to be going to university, maybe this was a prank they played on an unlucky new student? My eyebrows creased in meek confusion and bloodstream was impaired with panic as I thought back to last night; the dark night engulfing my small frame as I walked, and then a chemically soaked cloth engulfing my mind as I breathed in the substance that had tainted my memory and had my mind dazed and lost.
My body was tired with the warmth I felt, a light sheen layer of sweat coating my pale skin. Maybe that was why I was dressed only in a large shirt; maybe this entire thing was planned right down to minimum detail; maybe it was my handcuffed wrist, the drugs in my system, or my common sense telling me that I was in serious danger.
I had awoken into a nightmare.
And yet I couldn't do a think because my body refused to cooperate, and my restraint restricted movement, preventing any potential escape. Tears filled my eyes as I was overwhelmed with an abundance of emotions; frustration, confusion, anxiety and fear creeping into my foggy mind; fuelling to the erratic pounding of my heart. Within an instant, droplets had escaped my eyes and began to burn my cheeks in fast rivulets, rolling from my chin to fall to the bedcover.
Commanding my body to do so, with sloppy movements I tried throwing my legs over the side of the bed, but as I planted my feet on the ground, my legs collapsed beneath me, and with a small shriek I toppled to the right, my cuffed hand meaning I fell to the only place I could. My head collided with the edge of the small bedside cabinet, and as I made the inevitably clumsy descent to the carpet floor, my arms flapped messily, knocking the lamp to the floor and smashing the bulb before I landed.
I cried out for the pain in my head and the pain in my left hand, the fragments of glass tearing into my skin. I slid onto my bum; legs sprawled out beneath and in front of me, wounded left hand in my lap and right arm stretched across the top of the bed frame – sobs that I had not even attempted to suppress penetrating the eerie quiet. That was until the sound of movement came clearly from outside the bedroom door, and immediately my breath caught in my throat.
I recognized him the second he walked through the door. Darkness wasn't disenabling me the opportunity to soak in the full image of him this time; my eyes therefore taking in his appearance in all its entirety; his dark curls sweeping messily across part of his forehead, tons of untamed spirals that at least added a little to his height, entwining around and at the back of his head; his full, bubblegum pink lips first forming a small smirk; and then his green eyes, as good as emeralds burning into mine. But then he took in the mess on the floor and his perfectly calm, collected composure cracked - expression distorted; eyes wide, dark eyebrows tugged together and lips agape in shock.
"Fuck." Is all that he said.
He rushed towards me, dropping to his knees as he studied my wounds and connected the pieces on what had happened, but my instinctive reaction was to release the breath I had been holding, allowing my cries to continue as I attempted backing away from him, desperately retreating to the little space left, shaking my head as I did so. "Birdy." He said sternly, his voice dark and husky, an underlining warning that mingled with what I thought to be concern. He kept his gaze on my hands and the area around my temple before he retrieved the key from his jeans pocket and unlocked the handcuff, my recently freed and non-injured hand immediately pulling towards me and landing in my lap; but within seconds he had captured it in his hold and tried tugging me upwards.
I cried harder, shaking my head repeatedly as I refused his touch and fought desperately against him. He sighed and released my hand, only to ignore my meek protests and scoop my shaking frame in his muscular arms; holding me closer and tighter as I struggled, until my body grew weak and I could do nothing when my futile struggles were reduced to feeble whimpers and shaking.
He carried me out of his room and through the house, my eyes remaining in my lap in spite of the curiosity teasing me, my gaze wanting to wonder around my surroundings, but I stared only at my injured hand, small fragments of glass embedded into my flesh. He stopped when we reached the bathroom, and placed my trembling body onto the toilet seat, foot skillfully kicking the lid down before.
My breathing was in ragged gasps as I used my left hand to hug my frame, other hand in lap as I focused on evening out my shallow and unsteady breaths, but failing miserably. My throat was constricting with every shaky gasp I took, throat closing and palms sweating hopelessly as the panic the situation brought caused an overwhelming anxiety that had my heart pounding so fast and wild I feared it may break free from my chest. Tears continued to trickle down my flustered cheeks, streams of salty water staining my skin before dripping off my chin, this time to land on the sterile tiles beneath my feet.
"Birdy." He began approaching me, and once again my panic escalated, nerves eating me alive. He held a few antiseptic wipes in one hand and an open first aid kit in the other. I avoided his gaze as he knelt beside me, his height ensuring that even in his position our eyes were level, making it even more difficult to avoid eye contact, a gateway for conversation which I definitely didn't desire to have. Even so, I had questions running and filling my cloudy mind that needed answers; and though I was shy and timid and without a doubt frightened, I needed to voice my thoughts.
"Why am I here?" I asked bravely.
It occurred to me, as at first he avoided my question and began closing the distance between us, that somehow he knew my name, and I hadn't a clue who he was. "Who are you?" I continued timidly. His lips were sealed as his green eyes were trained on my left hand as his own inched closer, and then one took hold of it, and I flinched as if I'd been electrocuted. He frowned at my reaction, as if realizing my honest distress his emeralds ran over my petrified state; the tears tracking my cheeks, the ragged breaths constricting with my chest, the violent, uncontrollable shaking raking throughout my body. His eyes caught mine and I found myself squeezing my eyelids shut, convincing myself through my drug-infested mind that if I concentrated hard enough then I would wake up, if I focused on the darkness eventually I'd emerge from it; awakening in my own bed, my own house, my real life – I would awake from this nightmare.
"Birdy." His voice was calm, soft. I shook my head repeatedly, eyes still tight shut; as if I was refusing to believe my current situation was reality.
"Please let me go," I cried desperately, "Please."
He was quiet, and that unnerved me to a possible further extent. I realized why when his gentle touch caught my jaw, causing my eyelids to immediately snap open and my movement to seize. "I can't let you go." He told me simply.
I cried harder, thoughts and questions attacking my just-as-useless brain; confusion and fear freezing all composure that might've helped me. Was he going to kill me? Why was he going to kill me? What had I done wrong and why me? Had I angered someone so badly that they'd hired someone to kill me and dispose of the remains? Then again, the boy before me didn't look like a murderer; but looks could be deceiving, right?
I was barely aware of his hands gently removing the tiny shreds of glass that had torn my skin and caused blood to rise to the surface in perfectly shaped droplets. Thoughts were too busy occupying my mind I hadn't been able to notice his hands occupying mine.
What was he going to do before he killed me? I felt my stomach flip as I tortured myself with the possibility of what he could do, his potential actions, and as I did so, the panic that had recently been haunting me amplified to an increasingly worrying amount. And my abrupt panic that was tearing at my insides, corrupting me both physically and mentally didn't go amiss, he halted his current actions, peeking up from my hands to find me in the midst of a panic attack.
"Birdy." He said an underlining tone of warning. "You need to calm down." Like hell I was going to calm down. I was shaking and crying hysterically, the sobs breaking through my trembling lips a dangerous contributor to the lack of air getting to my lungs. I desperately batted his hands away from me, but he easily restricted my movements as he grasped my upper arms in an iron grip, holding my body still.
"You need to calm down, or I'll make you calm down." He was angry, frustrated – I gathered that much in my frantic state. I didn't know what the consequences would be if I didn't at least try to stop panicking and worrying; but the evident, dark warning in his tone, enhanced by the anger detectible had me frozen with fear. I had regained my shattered composure and recovered from a panic attack on my own more times than I could count, not having the option to be dependable on others even if I'd had the choice – I tried telling myself I could do it again.
Silence engulfed the both of us; the only noise the occasional large intake of breath I took. I was far from calm, but I had at least attempted to make it look like I was.
He wiped the excess blood from the palm of my hand with an antiseptic wipe, and wrapped a white bandage around my hand to protect and conceal the small wound.
"Harry."
I looked up from my lap, confused at what he said, and confused when I witnessed him bring out another wipe from the small green box. He tore the wrapper easily. "My name is Harry." My head nodded slightly, eyes watching his movements as he leant forward, wiping near my right cheek. I whimpered, unsure of what he was doing.
"You're bleeding."
I hadn't realized until now that my fall had resulted in my head bleeding, believing that the ungodly pounding at my temple was due to the drugs that had been forced into my system, through the torrents of tears not coming to the realisation that it had been blood also dribbling down my right cheek from the open wound on my forehead.
He cleaned my stained cheeks and then with a touch so tender it was scared me, he dabbed at the cut to the right of my forehead.
"Do you want me to bandage it?" I shook my head no, partly because I didn't desire his hands on me any longer than necessary, and partly because I didn't want my head to adorn a large white bandage. He nodded, and my brow crinkled as he reached back into the box, bringing out a white plaster a little larger than usually. 'Harry' unpeeled it from the sticker, and gently placed it over the cut, "Don't want it getting infected." He explained. I would've smiled, if the situation wasn't so twisted and confusing and terrifying.
I had so many questions I wanted to ask him, so many questions that I was absolutely petrified of voicing, so many questions that I desperately needed an answer to, but one question that I managed to get passed my lips, my voice tiny, but audible nonetheless was;
"Why am I here?"

Notes

OMG!! so today I had a rugby tournament and there were these really hot British guys there (which is rare for Ottawa) and they asked our team for a picture with them and it was heavenly. Their accents were UGH. I might play tomorrow too so idk if I will see them again. But hopefully I do.
Also I really hope you like this chapter. Thank you for reading. And don't forget to vote and comment what you think.
-Etz