Lost - D.G [ 1 ]

CHAPTER THREE: RESCUE PARTY

Waking up in a hospital was both a horrible surprise and an unusual one. Back in Gotham hospitals were a luxury very few could afford. The Narrows' hospital wasn't the very best, and even to get in there you had to go through hours of cues –meaning you ended up dead anyways before you could even see one of the three doctors working in there.

I see Grayson sitting on the chair next to me, checking his phone mindless. I sit up, a wave of nausea coming through me but I push it down. I tear the cables that connect me with the medical equipment, catching his attention when the machines start to beep.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting out of here. What does it look like?"

"Looks like you're doing something stupid."

"That could be the title of my biography. Where is my bag? My knives?" I ask, trying to get up but getting dizzy. In less than a second, the brunette man stands next to me. His arm around my waist securing me. I'm about to threaten him with cutting his hands if he doesn't let me go when a nurse walks in. She looks at me for a moment before turning to ask for a doctor.

"Just let them check, you hit your head pretty hard."

"If I'm not dead then it wasn't that hard. Let me go, Grayson." I growl and he let go as soon as an elderly looking doctor walks in. "I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that." He replies and I roll my eyes. "Can you look at the light for a moment?"

Grayson and I stand in front of Dawn's room, Hank standing beside us. The silver haired beauty was in bad shape, critically bad shape. The fall could have easily killed her, but it didn't. However she was in a coma, oxygen connected to her in order to keep her alive. Honestly, it would take a miracle for her to make it.

"We'll find them. You need to stay with her here." Hank just nods, his eyes focused on his girlfriend as they drown in sorrow and guilt.

We walk outside the hospital, the detective talking through his cellphone slightly ahead of me. Grayson handles me my bag with my knives inside, as he said he couldn't bring me to the hospital with them. He shouldn't have brought me to that place either way.

"Where's my butterfly knife?"

"Has to be inside."

"Well it's not." I snap at him.

"Jesus, relax. Look behind, must have fallen off."

"If you've lost it, you're dead Grayson." He rolls his eyes muttering something about me being insane, but I couldn't care less. Yes, maybe that's a bit of an overreaction but that knife meant a whole lot deal for me. I didn't care about much, but that was one of the things that were dear to me. Finally I find it under the seat, picking it up and scanning it so I'd know it didn't have any damage. "You're safe for now."

"That's caring a lot for a knife, don't you think?"

"It was a birthday present from when I was thirteen." I whisper, slipping it back into the holder and grabbing a black smartphone from my bag.

"Who would give a knife at a kid as a birthday gift?"

"Someone who knows that street kids in Gotham need knives if they want to make it 'till the end of the day." I coldly reply.

That seems to shut him up, his eyes trail to me and I can see something behind the deep brown eyes. Pity surely, but I brush it off as soon as I see it. I didn't need people's pity. I made it out, I fought and I blended with the city. And especially I didn't need his pity, not the pity of a privileged rich boy. As much as he tried, he couldn't understand the streets, nobody can until you nearly freeze to death under a bridge during the winter.