Colourless

Chapter Thirteen

Lingering in my bedroom as I check my timetable, I assess just enough time to shower before the allotted time for lunch would begin.

I had tried to wring out my hair in the bathroom, but I could still feel the beads of water rolling down my spine — occasional droplets landing on the cream carpet. So absorbed in planning out my schedule, I barely heard the screams that flooded the hallway.

"Hello? Please, help me!" I spin around to pinpoint the echoing voice behind the door that lead to the hallway and tighten the towel that was wrapped around my body.

Hesitantly scampering over to the door, still barefoot, I pull it open; gasping in horror at the sight that greeted me.

Outside was a girl, no older than fifteen, staggering down the hall; covered from head to toe in crimson blood. Her clothes were torn to cotton and denim ribbons and her eyes were wider than what I thought could be possible.

Making myself seen, the girl immediately cried and fell into my arms. I felt the warm liquid smear my skin and the air suddenly smelt of bitter metal. "What... what happened?! Where are you hurt?" I question quickly, securing my towel before attempting to discern where all of the blood was coming from so I could staunch the bleeding.

"I'm n-not sure," she whispers, barely audible. "I remember being taken, and then these men came and... but, then I- I was in here." Blood stained her pale lips with colour and I screamed for help at the sight, thanking whatever deity could have existed that I had decided to skip the current activity.

"Help, someone, please!" I scream and I quickly hear feet pounding down the hallway. "Just stay with me... can you tell me your name, sweetie?"

"Holly F-Flanagan." The name triggers bells of familiarity, but I instead focus on finding wherever the pools of blood were coming from; my white towel stained entirely with red.

Feeling a presence behind me, I breathe a sigh of relief as an older woman takes to crouching beside me. "What happened? Quickly."

"Her name is Holly Flanagan," I explain swiftly, "She says she was kidnapped, but I— I can't tell where the blood is coming from." The woman nods, speaking into the walkie-talkie secured on her collar before hoisting Holly's limp body almost effortlessly into her strong arms; taking her away just as several other people rushed down the hallway.

***

The steam was almost claustrophobic, clouding my vision as I stood motionless beneath the showerhead. The feeling of blood still lingered on my skin and I cringed, scrubbing furiously at something that wasn't there.

Holly Flanagan, the name had finally clicked. The original owner of my necklace, the granddaughter of the homeless man from the transition nearly a month ago.

It seemed stupid, almost selfish, but I had to question if her being here was because of me. Her blood was red — that was something I knew —, so this wasn't done because she was clear-blooded, and I highly doubt anyone would have a vendetta out against a fifteen year old who could have very-well lived on the streets. Not to mention how she had managed to stumble upon an underground, secret network. I considered the possibility of it being a message, something from the government, and that made me fear the safety of my family more than ever; something I had, shamefully, pushed to the back of my mind.

I climb out of the shower, not wanting to stew in my thoughts any longer, and quickly dry off with a clean towel. Changing into leggings and a t-shirt, the only thing I wanted to do right now was sleep, but I knew the thoughts would creep their way back inside my head. So, instead, I took to aimlessly wandering the halls.

Stumbling upon a training room, I peer in and find Malik standing alone. I step into the room and he doesn't seem to notice. Too focused on the punching bag he was throwing continuous swings at, he didn't even seem to see me trudge tiredly towards him. I tap him beckoningly on the shoulder, "Malik— ahh!" I quickly duck just in time as Malik whirls around, his arms still swinging. "What the hell?" I snarl, glaring up at him from where I had fallen.

"Holy sh— I'm so sorry!" Malik extends his hands, waiting for me to begrudgingly slip my palms within his before hoisting me to my feet.

"Watch who you swing at," I scowl bitterly, still trying to catch my breath. Malik simply smiles apologetically, removing the frayed wrapping from around his hands and knuckles.

He suddenly clears his throat, "Uh... I heard what happened. You okay?"

I shake my head and Malik, thankfully, seems to understand as he doesn't prod any further. Instead scanning my eyes over the training room, I smirk. "Teach me something?" I request, "You know, considering you inadvertently knocked me on my ass."