Danger Level Unknown (dreamnotfound)

Chapter seven

Three hours. Three hours ago, the doctors told me I may never walk again. Three days. Three days licked alone in a room covered in blood and despair, hoping I would die. Three seconds. Three seconds ago the living hold of my friends slipped away, leaving me alone to my thoughts. Three years. The age I was when I first noticed a strange number above everybody's heads.

I always used to think three was my lucky number. I always used to wonder why I was the only one able to see the numbers. I always used to think that if I just held on for three more hours, then three days, months, years, things would get better. But nothing about the number three comforts me anymore. I tap my fingers anxiously, one tap, two tap, three tap, four. One two three four. One two three. One two. One... Me, only one, alone in a world of threes.

Seconds, minutes, hours, blood, pain, memories. Memories of what has been and somehow what has yet to come. Envy of a life once lived, my jealousy remembers before my father.  It remembers my birthday, a surprise party, the first time meeting a man named Clay. It remembers Bee's comforting, excited tone as I came to work a year older. I remember everything that I once held so close. But it seems only two things matter. The pain I feel deep in my soul, the part of my brain that just wants to scream constantly in hopes of some kind of morphine. And the side of my brain that is so hopelessly in love with  someone I barely know to think of anything else.

As a child, I always wanted to know what the numbers meant, and would always come up with silly little meanings behind them. Sometimes I thought it was how many people a person would love in their lifetime, sometimes I convinced myself it was how many sunsets that person had seen. Always silly, always innocent. But little did I know, the naivety that I would need to shed to reveal the truth.

Now, as I lie here, seemingly alone yet surrounded by people, I feel as though the walls are caving in, like my head in underwater, muffling my screams. It is only too late when I notice the tears on my cheeks. The burning salt water singing my skin and rattling my bones with how pathetic I must seem.

I never asked to be pitied. I never wanted this. I just wanted peace, I just wanted happiness... One, two, three, four. One, the number of loneliness, and everlasting consuming feeling. Two, the action of inhale and exhale, a two step process to keep you alive, even if you don't want to be. Three, a perfect family, a mother, father, son. They seem so perfect in public but once the door is closed.... Four, bullet wounds piercing a pale white chest. One.. right back to feeling alone.

My cycle of tapping is interrupted by the opening of a door. A woman steps through, wearing a suit, clutching a briefcase close to her chest. I recognize this woman. She's here to ask me questions I can barely comprehend about my father, so that I spill everything while still on pain meds. That way, no bribery from my father would have an effect on my weak state. This is the woman who I tell everything to.

"Hello, Mr. Davidson, I assume you know why I'm here" the woman introduces himself as Niki Nihachu. Her voice is sweet, and reminds me of chocolate. I trust her, because she seems so kind.

DANGER LEVEL: 103

Now I definitely trust her.

The woman named Niki doesn't have to say another word before I tell her everything, spill my life onto her small shoulders, trying not to sob. I watch as her expression changes from confused to focused and finally settles on sympathetic. Her eyes are soft, and filled with something I don't quite know. She seems like she gives good hugs.

Almost as if reading my mind, she gently puts her arms around me and whispers "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, George. But you're not alone, and I'm gonna help you from now on, okay" I was right. She does give good hugs, I'm almost sad when she pulls herself away. Even more so when her sweet, small voice nearly whispers a goodbye and is escorted from the room.

But that sadness completely vanishes when a man enters the room. Dressed in a hoodie I can assume is green, with those piercing eyes and blonde hair. Clay is beautiful, and I just want to hold him, and never let go. However, that's when I realize something, a certain sadness behind his eyes, he seems like he hasn't slept in days. I wonder what could have made him this upset.

He looks at me kindly, and whispers something quietly, but I still hear it. "I'm so damn sorry, George" choked back tears riddle his words, and pull at my heartstrings. I hate seeing him cry.

"Why would you be sorry? None of this is your fault" I try lace my words as comforting, but I'm not sure it does much good.

"But it is. I was right there, I saw him, I should have fought harder, if u just hadn't let him hit me, I could have protected you, I- I could have-" tears interrupt Clay, the sadness he once hid now prominent. It hurts me to my core to see him like this. I reach out my hand and he takes it willingly. I stroke his hair, and he leans into the touch. Then he speaks something I am so glad nobody else was in the room to hear.

"I never noticed it before, but, ever since that day, you've been the only thing on my mind. I, I'm, I think, I think I love you, George." The speed at which I throw my arms around him shouldn't be possible.

"I love you, too" I mumble into the crook of his neck, and I notice he relaxes slightly, melting more into my touch. I separate the hug, and suddenly get an urge to something I never have before. I readjust my face to be mere inches from his, looking to his eyes for consent before placing my lips onto his.

Fireworks explode inside the kiss, neither of us wanting it to end. So it doesn't, instead it deepens, and our lips only separate for air.

The sadness behind Clay's eyes is gone, replaced by an emotion I now know to be love.

I decided to give you guys a little bit of a late Christmas gift, but don't worry this is NOT the end of the fic. There is so much more....