Scored

Chapter 8: Seven

I feel a light tapping on my cheek, and I blink my eyes open. A face swims into my vision, backed by draping white canvas. Blonde hair falls forward from her face and stops a few inches from mine. Her deep brown eyes are drawn together as the brows pull in concern.

I must be dead, I think, otherwise how am I seeing an angel?

I mumble something. My lips feel like fat caterpillars, and my brain feels like wool. I don't remember what I just said.

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When I wake again, I realize that I haven't died. I'm lying on a cot; the thin mattress is hard against my back. The cot is tucked up against two walls in a corner. The smell of cheap liquor burns the inside of my nose, and I realize that my clothes have been drenched in beer. I look at the ceiling, or what's left of it. Directly above me there is a concrete ceiling rivered by cracks, but in the corner to my right, sunlight filters through a hole fringed with leaves, and dust motes dance in the beams. I close my eyes against the bright light that causes shooting pain all around the inside of my skull. I open my eyes again, squinting in the light. Roots or vines, I'm not really sure what they are, wind their way through the hole and down the wall, occasionally sprouting leaves. The floor on the right side of the room has caved in, and I can see the top of a tiny tree poking through from the floor below. Directly across from my corner are shelves built into the wall, lined with jars filled with mysterious substances.

The tree on the floor below starts to rustle, and the angel's blonde head from last night rises from the foliage. The light from the hole in the roof and a pane-less window catch the natural highlights in her hair, making them shimmer. She climbs up the tree and into the room, brushing small green leaves from her hair and clothes. She's dressed in the threadbare uniform of the lows, dull gray trousers and a brown tunic cut so as to not hang too far down her legs. She turns towards me, and I realize I've been staring.

I blink hard to clear my brain and then wince. "What am I doing here?" I ask.

She comes closer, her fingers finding the back of my head and gently checking my scalp. I almost stop breathing. Gosh, I pray that she doesn't realize the effect she has on me.

"You got hurt." She says in a way that suggests that this explains everything.

"Um, yeah, I figured." I say without thinking. I internally wince at myself for sounding so catty. She raises an eyebrow at me. "I mean, I feel like crap, so I know I got hurt. I meant, what led to me being here? Why aren't I in some hospital, or, heck, even my own bed?"

The girl takes a step back. She doesn't say anything for a minute. Her eyes never leave mine, and I start to wiggle, feeling uncomfortable. Her eyes harden slightly, and she finally opens her mouth to speak.

"First of all, you're welcome for saving you and giving you a place to recuperate. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm barely scraping by for myself, and now I'm helping you out. When I found you, you'd been left for dead on the street." I drop my eyes, feeling ashamed. She continues talking. "Second of all, how the heck was I supposed to bring you home? I don't know where you live, I barely know you. All you gave me was your name and then you passed out." She doesn't say why she didn't bring me to the hospital, or asked someone for help, but I'm feeling severely chastised. I don't want her to direct that glare at me again. Also, it's hard to focus on her words with the ringing in my ears and the pounding in my head.

I'm still avoiding meeting her eyes when I hear her sigh. I tentatively raise my gaze to hers.

"Look, I'm sorry I went off on you. I don't know how much you remember, but there was that bombing at that testing building. And the girl that caused it - the redhead - well she ran through where you were with the Police chasing her. A lot of people got hurt, and I guess you just got lost in the fray."

I remember, now, being suspended and escorted from school, the crowd of people around me, the gunshots and the girl running into me. I remember falling. I must have hit my head, and pretty hard too.

"Anyways," blondie continues, "I'm pretty sure you have a concussion and some fractured ribs. Your shoulder is also probably pretty bruised."

"Yeah, that's great," I say, dismissing my injuries with a wave of my hand, "but who are you, and why do I smell like beer?"

The girl gives a curt laugh and nods to herself. I made her laugh!

"Right, sorry. I'm not great with people. I'm Tess. You smell like beer because you stumbled into someone leaving a pub when you were half-conscious and got soaked."

"Ah," I exhale, drawing out the sound. "Sounds like me. Can't stay away from the tap even when I'm half dead." I wink at her. She rewards my terrible joke with a small smile. "I'm Seven."

"I know, you told me before one of the many times you passed out."

I start laughing, but the motion hurts my side where Tess says I fractured my ribs. "Ow. Do you have any pain killers?" I ask.

She nods and moves towards the shelves at the other end of the room. "They're not great, though, so they'll probably knock you out again." She comes back with two white pills and hands them to me.

"I'll take my chances," I say as I dry swallow the medicine.

The last thing I see is Tess's blonde hair falling down her back as the edges of my vision blur.