Barbed Boys

Chapter 3

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When I came to, I felt wrong. My body felt heavy and achey, like waking up the morning after falling asleep high at 4am. Thirsty, exhausted, and all-round regretful.

I shifted my tongue in my mouth and found that it was sticky, a bit cottony. I needed a glass of water, preferably cold with little beads of condensation rolling down the sides. Oh god, just the thought of that had my mouth feeling quenched.

Not just that, I felt queasy too.

My eyes fluttered open and white light flashed at me instantly, throbbing shot through my skull. I shut them and then tried again. This time, I opened them slower and more tentatively, trying to let them adjust to the brightness around me. Everything was a bit blurry, and though the sudden pain didn't occur, they had a little trouble focusing for a few seconds longer than normal.

Wait. My head. Something happened to my head. Something happened. My head should be hurting more than it was. I knew that. I could feel a dull ache, but nothing close to what it should have felt like after getting a knock on the head. Where was I?

It seemed like all the lights in the room were on. I turned my head and there was a dark box on the wall. No- it was a window, I was staring at a window and it was dark outside. How long had I been out?

My head was pounding now. It felt like I'd been run over by a semi, which just for good measure reversed over me again. Whatever relief I'd felt from being knocked out had worn off.

I tried to shift my position and almost yelped as I wrenched my wrist. My right wrist was handcuffed to an old, metal radiator. With my vision watery and panic creeping into my hazy state, I reached my free hand to the knot at the back of my skull, grateful that there was a large bump. It was never good if there wasn't a bump, that could mean the swelling was going inwards, which could cause a lot more damage beyond a nasty migraine.

I winced as I pressed it with my fingers gently. Isn't it weird how we always press a fresh bruise that we know will hurt?

Yup.

It fucking hurt.

Sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth I began to survey the room around me. It was a small live-in kitchen with old appliances, and muddy brown linoleum floor tiles. A musty smell washed over me like there was water damage in the floors and ceilings and sure enough when I looked up there were dark yellow stains. Peeling floral wall paper covered the walls as best as it's old glue could manage and had also fallen victim to the water. The whole place felt dated and dirty, the exact kind of place you would bring a kidnapped victim.

A worn out couch sat against the wall a couple feet away in a clashing print to what was on the walls. There were torn seams that spurted stuffing like cigarette smoke and more noxious stains I didn't want explanations for unless it was spilt spaghetti sauce and lemonade.

"You're awake. Good. I was beginning to think I'd given you too much."

I jumped and shot my eyes towards the smooth voice. It was a man, stood in the doorway of the room. I had been expecting to come face to face with a black mask, I almost gasped at the bare face in front of me. Smooth, skin like a desert golden sand greeted me. His lips were like that of a ballerina, and his voice was the music to their dance. High cheek bones were dusted in freckles. There was a prominent one, more like a beauty mark nestled under a deep blue eye. He was handsome, beautiful even, and somehow that made him more dangerous to me. The same way his sweet voice had been so disturbing the first time I heard it. It still was.

There was only one flaw. I almost didn't notice it amongst his finer features, but once I did I couldn't help but recoil. It was a scar, a nasty one that literally traced the edged of his jawline on the right side of his face. It wasn't jagged, it was precise, but even from a distance I could tell it was raised. That meant it had been a deep wound.