The Nowhere Girl

2. Robin Hood

Red Hood takes the blindfold off my face once we enter the apartment. Paranoid, much?

The ceiling is slanted. Must be an attic apartment. The floor is made of wooden boards and there's a single window letting in the light from the street. I can see a couch, a table and a chair. There's a hallway but I can't see down it because of the darkness. It seemingly swallows it up.

I slump down on the couch and groan as the lights flicker on and ring with a faint metallic buzz. The bleeding has stopped, but both my arm and gut still need stitches.

"Haven't used this place in a while. I save it for special occasions." He moves into the kitchen to get a first aid kit.

"Lucky me," I say between grunts of pain and lean back into the couch. I'll just close my eyes for a while and get some rest.

I don't even get a minute to relax before Red gets back. "Hey, girl, wake up." He pats my cheek insistently until I open my eyes groggily. I grumble at him to stop and that I'm up and bat his hand away.

Reaching for the first aid kit and the bottle of whisky, wincing as I do so and take it from his hands. I can feel him quietly watching me as I struggle to get a good angle to properly see what I'm doing. Red shakes his head and before I can comprehend what's happening, he takes the supplies from my hands.

"I'll do it."

"Thanks," I say, relaxing slightly. As he examines where the wounds are, I gulp, realising I'll have to take off my shirt for him to get to them. Not that I feel threatened by him, it'll be fine as long as I have my bra on.

I can see he's thinking the same thing by the he makes and offhand gesture to my clothes. "You could at least buy me dinner first," I say, and pull all three layers over my head as quickly as possible without hurting myself.

That gets half a chuckle out of him before he disinfects the wounds with no mercy. I grit my teeth and pretend it doesn't bother me. That's a lie. I hiss as soon as the alcohol touches my skin. Moving to the puncture on the side of my stomach, he looks up at me.

"It'll need stiches..."

"Bluey," I say, knowing I haven't introduced myself. Knowing that Jason's practically a stranger to me still.

"Is that your real name?"

"It's what people call me," I say.

Red Hood tilts his head slightly. "You're really not afraid of me, are you?"

"So far, you haven't given me a reason to."

"Most people are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Well, maybe you're not afraid of me, but I'm sure you've thought about me naked."

"Am I that transparent?" I mock in a submissive tone. "You are, debatably an 'okay' guy, Red Hood."

This time he chuckles properly and shakes his head. "Bluey," he says, like he's testing the way it sounds and twists a strand of my red hair around his forefingers. "I don't think it suits you, babe."

"That's exactly why I'm called Bluey. And don't call me 'babe'." Carefully I move, reaching for the first aid kit in his lap, picking up a needle and some thread and hold it out to him. "So, stitches?" I remind him.

"Relax, I'm getting there, babe," says, shaking his head. Red Hood dunks the needle into the bottle and starts stitching me. I grip the couch and he moves to my arm. Finishing up on the stitches, he makes sure the blood is gone and packs the needle away.

Feeling that awkward silence between us is painful for both of us and eventually he gestures to two old scars on my lower torso, pale against my skin. "What happen there?"