The Runaways: K.A.O.

IV

  I peered around the door curiously, the room was large but felt home-like. The walls were draped with large blankets, some full of holes and tears. The room was dimly lit using small lights and candles. 

  Without a second more of hesitation, I walked in closing the door behind me. 

Thud! 

"Oof!" I fell to my knees as a body tackled me down. 

"Who are you?" They interrogated. The voice belonged to a boy. 

"What the hell?" I hissed, my leg throbbed with my weight pushing down on my injury. 

"I asked." The person stopped and froze on top of me. "You're hurt."  They spoke softly with an English sounding accent. 

"Nice job Sherlock." I spoke sarcastically, the pain was too much. 

"Come." He grabbed me by the hand and led me to a different part of the room. 

"You might as well not even ask." I said under my breath, irritated. 

  He took me to brighter part of the room, which ultimately revealed his face. He was thin, and under his large clothes didn't appear very muscular. His sandy brunette hair fell into soft, but tangled strands onto his pale skin. 

"Here." He crawled over to me holding bandages and rubbing alcohol. 

"Thank you?" I eyed the boy, I didn't understand his actions. 

  I watched as he patched the dried blood on my arm from the bullet scratch. Next, he examined me to make sure there weren't any more injuries. To my dismay, he grabbed scissors from the kit and proceeded to tear a hole in the militia pants I stole. 

"W-woah." He held my leg in such a tight grip, I couldn't move far from him. 

"Hold still." I only noticed the blood soaking my clothes as he removed them. 

"Argh!" The stiffness in my legs made sense. I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from swearing. 

"Don't move!" His voice rang through my ears, I hung my head back. "Who's the wise guy who did this?" He cut through the bandages and I could feel the stitches in my leg pop. 

"What- what are you doing?" I asked clenching my teeth. 

"Helping." He said before I felt a rapid poke through my skin, it was more painful than the injury itself. 

"Ah!" I screamed in agony. "Stop, stop!" I tried to sit up to stop him, but I felt weak in an instant. 

"Shh." He repeated and continued to patch me up. "Trust me." He whispered. 

  Trust you? I don't even know your name! I wanted to bite down on my lip until it drew blood, but even I was scared he would try to fix that himself. I clenched my fists and hung my head back again, trying to be as quiet as I could through the pain. I could feel the tears welling in my ducts from the twinging. 

"I've finished." He finally said after the long moments of torture. "Are you crying?" His eyes met mine. 

"No." I wiped away the tears and fell back. What was wrong with this guy? Does he not understand how the human body work?

"I'm sorry, don't cry." He took the bandages and wrapped my leg. 

"I'm not crying." I said stubbornly. 

"Uh-huh." He smirked. "I'm Quinn." He held out his hand to me. 

"Vanessa." I glared at him. 

"Can you walk?" He tried to help me up, but I wanted nothing to do with movement. "No?"

"No." I frowned. 

No really... does he not understand the human body?

"Alright." He paused. "My last name is Thompson, so you can call me that or Bolts. 

"Okay?" I eyed his movements, I was not amused or pleased with anything he'd done. 

"I wanted to start over with our introduction since I can come off a bit rude or strange." He brought over a cold rag. 

"You think?" I took the rag. "Thanks." 

  The room grew quiet, and only the sound of a crying child broke it. I flinched at the noise, but they were eventually hushed leaving us back to sitting in silence. My brain spun around with all of the event that happened recently. 

I lost Gino.

I was shot at. 

I injured my leg even further. 

I ran into a weirdo. 

I lost Jordan... 

  I frowned thinking about the face he made, my eyes clouded over in no time from remembering. The world was acting like a cruel clock towards me. Once it ticked past a number, you could never get that specific time back again. 

"Hey." Thompson broke the silence. "Are you alright?" His voice showed more concern than his expression. 

"Y-yeah." I buried my face in my knees. 

I was exhausted. 

  I closed my eyelids down hard to prevent crying, there was no need for me to cry anymore. I breathed in to stunt my steadily increasing panting. 

  I should have been the one taken away on that plane. 

  I felt warmth drape over my shoulders which helped me catch my breath. I held my kneed tighter for only a moment more until I looked up, curious. Thompson sat next to me, mocking my position with a frown. Our eyes met for a moment making us smile with relief. 

"You can talk to me about it." He said. "You don't have to sit around all bloody gutted by yourself." 

I didn't answer, I only continued to look at him. 

"Welcome to our sanctuary." His voice made my heart thump.

I'm scared. I'm way too scared to tell him anything. We can't stay here, no, I can't stay here. Nothing good ever happens when I'm involved, and I couldn't stand seeing another face lost in a battle that should have never happened. 

"I'm sorry." I had to get out of there. 

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry." 

He let out a chuckle. "What are you apologizing for? This is all to pot and we're comrades now."

  I chuckled myself at his attempt to console me. I couldn't look him in the eye still, the words he said only brought back pieces of Jordan to my mind. Remembering his face, I remembered my original goal. 

  I've got to do this. 

First things first, I have to get out of these floppy military pants.