It's Complicated

It's Complicated: 28

===Tala's Point of View===

I bolt upright, feeling sweat plastered to the back of my neck and forehead. My breathing is rapid and I feel like my heart is going to jump right out of my chest. My eyes dart around the room without really seeing and I push a loose piece of hair behind my ear.

What was that?

My brain must have a really sick sense of humor to make it seem so realistic. I swear I actually got shot and it felt so damn real when the hunters busted into Tyler's house and shot Bo, but it couldn't have happened. That kind of thing just doesn't happen in real life, although werewolves aren't supposed to exist either.....

"Bo, you'll never bel-" I start, but cut myself off upon noticing my surroundings. I feel the color drain from my face and my head whips from side-to-side.

I'm in a bedroom, but it isn't my own or Bo's. It's a small room with pale, grey walls and only one window, no bigger than a toaster, and is more than a few feet above my head so I couldn't see out of it even if I tried. It does let in a little light, which gives me the idea that I'm above ground somewhere.

A metal door is situated on my left and if I strain my ears, I can hear movement on the other side. I only listen for a few seconds because my head starts to pound in the back of my skull. That's no thanks to whatever drugs they used to knock me out if I'd have to guess.

I shake my head and throw my legs over the side of the twin sized bed. The ground is made of smooth stone and is cold under my bare feet. If I remember correctly, though, I was wearing shoes when they took me.

Assholes...

I keep one hand on the bed in case my legs decide they don't want to support me as I stand, but that doesn't turn out to be the problem. I hiss as the muscles in my stomach constrict around my wound. How could I forget I got shot? Just like that. It wasn't the first thing I thought of when I woke up here, but can you blame me? I thought the entire thing was a dream.

I rest my arm across my stomach and fall back onto the small bed. I press against my midsection and am surprised to feel something bulky under my clothes. Frowning, I prop myself up against the wall and lift up the bottom of my shirt. Wrapped around my side is a thick, white bandage partially stained red from my own blood.

I furrow my eyebrows and try to think of why the people who wanted me dead patched me up after shooting me? You want to know what conclusion I've come to?

These people are fucking crazy! Pardon my language, but I don't know what else to say right now.

Dropping my shirt back to its proper place, I now try to figure out how long I've been out for, but it's probably impossible to do without some sort of contact with the world outside of this room. I'm pretty much a sitting duck. I have to wait until someone comes to me to figure out exactly where I stand in all of this and it sucks.

I'm the type of person who hates sitting still and doing nothing. Yes, I love to sit on my couch and watch movies or have a Castle marathon, but I'm not technically doing nothing. I'm in this room with nothing to do. There isn't even a bathroom!

Sighing in frustration, I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around the top them. Resting my forehead on top, I bury my face in my arms.

Why does all of this have to happen to me anyways? Having my parents get divorced, turning into a wolf unexpectedly, plus all of this! I might need therapy and god I hope I won't because therapist broken into two words it 'the rapist'. I blame Barron for planting this thought in my brain because it sounds more stupid each time I think or say it.