The Monster [H.S.]

Chapter 11

I can barely feel anything. My head pounds and it's a struggle to breathe; it has been since they broke my collar bone. A thin layer of sweat decorates my face and I attempt to open my eyes.

I clamp them back shut, moaning slightly at the pain and try to open them again. I'm in the same room I was before lying on the bed. How did I get onto the bed? I was just in Harry's arms. Why the fuck was I there?

I feel my heart rate quicken as I begin to panic with the lack of knowledge of what's happening, when Harry walks in.

"You're awake" Sherlock states.

"Yes, now when did I fall asleep?" I ask.

He laughs slightly, but not with his mouth.

"You weren't asleep, Annabelle. You were dead."

"What?" I ask, trying to hide my astonishment and sit up.

"You died, for about 5 minutes, and you've been in a coma since" he shrugs.

A glass of whiskey sits firmly in his large hand and he sways it slightly as he speaks.

"Since when?" I ask.

"About 2 days" he replies and I have to lift my jaw back up.

"What did you sick bastards do to me to make me die and while I was in a coma?!" my voice raises.

"Your wounds became severely infected and we did nothing" he replies, though I shouldn't complain too much as he normally doesn't even answer.

"Don't wound me then" I snap.

"Don't have their blood, then" he says, his tone cold.

"Why amen't I chained and why aren't you beating me?" I sigh.

"You're not chained because you can't get out and I'm not beating you because you're already beaten" he breathes, uninterested.

"What about when I'm," I think of a word other than 'not weak' before continuing, "able, to retaliate?"

"Then you would be tasered from every angle you stood" he scolds, taking a sip of whiskey.

"You have built in tasers here?" I ask, not really surprised at all. I've never seen luxuries like I have here. Greedy aliens.

"Yes." he shrugs, taking the crystal glass to his mouth and tilting his head back as the cool liquid runs down his throat.

"Why am I alive?" I wonder, we are acting as though I wasn't dead or something.

"Medicine" he replies.

I'm not even going to bother asking about the details because the vagueness of his answers does nothing but irritate me.

I try to get out of the bed but I feel too...unable. I can't even move from this spot and my thirst is becoming overwhelming.

"What am I supposed to do all day?" I ask.

"I don't know, whatever you want"bhe gives me a look that tells me he couldn't give less of a shit about what I do with my day, and I sigh.

My physical fitness must be half of what it was a couple of weeks ago, and dying isn't helpful.

"What am I even doing here? Why the hell are you here?"

"Why do you ask so many fucking questions?! I'll answer 3 more for the next week as compromise, and then you better shut the fuck up" he threatens, though still as emotionless as ever.

"Okay. Why am I here?" I ask for a start.

"Paul already explained so that was a waste of a question. Next."