Lady Luck: Hoodie x Reader

Chapter 3

          Climbing two flights of stairs when one person has a limp and can't stand on his own takes even longer than you'd think—and I spent every minute questioning what the hell I was doing.

             It was kind of ridiculous how long it took. In this case, he had TWO bad legs rather than just one, so either way he'd be in pain. We had to pause after every single step to make sure he didn't place too much stress on the leg with the knife or his bad ankle. By the time we finally reached the top, my shoulder was sore from the combined efforts of lifting all that debris and having a heavy guy leaning on it. Thankfully, there wasn't much left to go, and I quickly led him to the end of the hall, using the arm that DIDN'T have a blood-stained killer clinging to it to open the door.

             At some point in the past, this large room had probably been a conference room or some big-name executive's office or something. It just reeked of business and high class, even with the wood paneling now chipped and the carpet stained. Nowadays, though, it had turned into my nest. I led the hooded man to the faded green couch on the side of the room—the only actual piece of furniture left in the room. It was a bit old and worn, but not too much, so it was pretty comfortable. At that moment, that couch looked more inviting than anything else to my sore and tired body, but I knew I couldn't relax yet. After all, this guy was still losing a LOT of blood.

           Casting it a wistful glance, I turned and went to the corner of the room where I kept my supplies. Brushing aside the bags with my clothes and cooking supplies, I found the first aid kit and turned only to see the guy had rolled up the left leg of his jeans and removed his shoes, his left arm withdrawn into his sweatshirt. Given the way he gripped the now-empty sleeve, it was pretty clear he planned to tear it off.

            "Think fast," I called, tossing a balled-up scarf at him. He released the sleeve to catch it, and immediately went to work wrapping it around the spot the knife was embedded. Not exactly a permanent solution, but it would have to do for the moment. While he took care of that I went over and knelt in front of him with the first aid kit, scrutinizing his ankle carefully.

            More blood had poured from the cut while we were climbing the stairs, so I quickly wiped it clean before starting. With all the blood gone, it was clear just how bad his ankle really was. The swollen skin had turned purple, and the cut wasn't all that pretty either. Trying my best not to freak out at the sight, I went to work while the man watched me without a word. But while it looked pretty bad, surprisingly it didn't take too long to fix. Soon enough I was strapping a black ankle brace around the bandages.

           With his ankle no longer painful to look at, I instead turned my gaze to my own body. Great, now I'm covered in plaster, dust, and blood. This is going to be a pain to clean... I sighed at the thought, but then froze. Here I was, tending the injured ankle of a guy I saw kill someone less than an hour ago, and my first thought was how hard it would be to clean my clothes. Not about the danger he posed, not about how ridiculous it was for me to help a killer, but instead I was focused on how hard it would be to clean my clothes and get a shower when I had no access to running water and no money.

             As the implications of my thoughts settled in, I almost wanted to laugh. This just goes to show how messed up my priorities have become. Shaking my head, I pressed a hand to my head as I backed off, taking a moment to collect myself before finally speaking.