Chapter 11: Who?

—Kinny—

By the grace of the gods, I made it to my apartment alive, and I wasted no time gathering the all too familiar supplies from my bathroom cabinet. Though it had a mirror, my bathroom was far too small to get any work done, so I stumbled out of it and headed towards my couch.

I had a few tears in my shirt, and the biggest one was where the stab wound resided. I needed to stitch it up and fast. I could tell by the amount, and color of the blood pooling out that it wasn't life threatening, and stitches would do the trick. Once I was able to clean it enough, I was reassured again. I placed two fingers into the wound and felt that it wasn't deep enough to penetrate any organs.

the first few stitches were the worst, and I couldn't stop myself from releasing the anguished scream that bubbled in my chest. My skin felt like it was on fire, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my forehead and into the cuts on my face. After the third stitch I left the needle in my skin, then roughly took my shirt off, and shoved it in my mouth to avoid the neighbors hearing anything more.

The sixth and final stitch wasn't any better. None of it really got better in the pain department, but it needed to be done, I could deal with the pain later.

With the last knot tied and the gauze placed haphhazardly, I allowed myself to relax as best I could. That was in the form of a joint, followed by probably too much ibuprofen, and then I reluctantly passed out on my now bloodstained couch.

Sleep, she kept me company in the worst way, and neither my vice, nor the medicine helped me escape it. Nightmares plagued me and the only thing to wake me up the next morning were three loud, harsh knocks at my door.

The pain in my lower abdomen kept me from bolting upright. Instead, I threw on my bloodied, yellow shirt next to me, and trudged towards my door, careful of the amature stitch job from the night prior.

My brain obviously hadn't registered who was at my door until a velvety, and quite angry voice snarled, "Who?" my eyes widened in surprise, and my head reluctantly turned upwards to face a raging Twelve.

My shock turned into confusion and I looked at him with wide eyes. "How do you know where I live, Twelve?" My voice was soft, timid, and due to recent events, felt quite small next to his large frame. I hoped it would deter the conversation hanging in the air.

"Nona, sweet lady by the way, was worried about you, you were supposed to be at the diner at six, and its ten thirty." His eyes softened just a tad, and his voice was calmer now, yet still held a tenseness to it. I opened my door a bit further and ushered him inside. I didn't want to be out in the open right now, and truthfully I just wanted to lie back down.

I felt his heavy footsteps creep into the living room, assesing it, scanning it. I knew he was trying to piece together what happened without my guidance, but it made me anxious to have him snooping through my apartment.

In a small voice I offered the only information that I would share. "It was dark, I got in late. A couple of methheads tried to rob me is all." I gave a small shrug, and tried my hardest not to wince at the pain it caused. Twelve picked up on it and took my face in his rough hands, inspecting the wounds on my face.

I hadn't cleaned them, and they looked much worse than what it was, but I could still feel the anger radiating off of him ten fold. "Did you see what they looked like?" He asked again, leading me towards my couch and helping me down gently. I could only shake my head and wince clutching my abdomen, not wanting to talk about this anymore. I just wanted to sleep.