64 Hours

35 h0urs

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD 900 VIEWS! TYSM! I can't believe we're more than halfway through the story! I promise that from now on your eyes will bleed from the plot-twists. Long chapter ahead!

~the thirty-fifth hour~

"The only things more shocking than the truth are the lies people tell to cover it up." -Jane Porter

When you wake up there is this small period of time when you're afloat of all your memories; everything that happened the previous day, the good, the bad, is forgotten. It's like a few seconds of lucky oblivion where you feel at peace and weight-free. 

Until it all comes crashing down and reality gives you a slap in the face. 

There was no better way to explain how I woke up properly for the first time since being knifed. I blinked a few times, my eyes heavy and my knowledge thick. It felt like everything was normal and I forgot which day of the year it was and where I was. But then as soon as I felt a stabbing pain in my shoulders are through my back, my memories came flying back to me like a bullet through the head. 

My first instinct was to panic. The last thing I remembered was having a slight glimpse of Unknown who had me strapped onto the bed. Was it Unknown or someone else mysterious? I didn't know. 

I looked around, trying to get rid of the fog running through my eyes. Breathing out, I realized that I was sleeping face-down. My head was planted into a pillow, my stomach on cushion. My voice muffled I gave a scream, and attempted to sit up. 

Using all the strength in my arms I pushed myself up. A strange weakness shot through my elbows and they began to shake as I propped myself on one elbow. I took a better look around. 

Oh God. I was on the sofa. In my apartment. 

There was a languid feeling to the air. I could sense it. My surroundings were hollow and empty. I peered around to make sure it was the right apartment. 

I could see my LG television on the front wall, my large windows displayed on my right, and the coffee table in front of me where it always was. I wasn't  mistaken. I was home. There was only one thing out of place. A tattoo machine. It was sitting on the mahogany table where the lamp stood beside the couch I was on. But at that moment the machine was the last thing on my mind.

Impossible. 

As I tried to sit up properly again agony ebbed into my back. My skin was tingling, just above my spine. Strange. I vaguely remembered being hurt on the shoulder, not my back. 

I gingerly moved my left hand. There was a dull ache in my clavicle, nothing more. The roaring pain I once felt when Mr. Lakes sunk my knife into my own shoulder awakened my mind, and I remembered it like yesterday. 

I ripped off the thin black shirt I was wearing. It was the same shirt I wore when I went to assassinate my former captain. It should've been torn in the area where I was knifed, but it was in one piece, as good as new. 

I glanced at my left shoulder. There was a big patch of white material that looked like plaster on it, clinging onto my skin. I couldn't even feel it. Whatever the black hooded figure did to my shoulder was working.

"Aria?" I called out hoarsely, testing my voice. No reply. "Bella?" 

It was silent. 

I heaved, and stood up on the balls of my feet. I swayed for a few seconds, dizzy, like I was lying down for days. How long had it been?