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I awoke in so much pain. I groaned, turned my head, and tried to lift my right hand to rub my eyes, but it barely moved. "The fuck?" I questioned out loud. As my vision came back, I looked around. I was lying on a table covered with a blanket. The room was lit, but very dim. The corners of the room were dark. There was a door along the wall parallel to me. I looked next to me, and there was an IV hooked up to me. Both my hands were strapped to the table. "What the fuck?" I said again, but in a louder, angry tone. I yanked the right-hand strap, sending pain through my chest and into my shoulder. I hear someone clear their throat in the room's corner.
"Ah, you're finally awake," I hear as a chair scrape against the floor like someone was getting up, and footsteps approach me slowly. "How are you feeling?" I listened to the same voice ask as the footsteps came even closer.
"Where am I? Why am I strapped to a fucking table? What happened to me?" I spat in anger, yanking on the strap, sending pain into my left shoulder again. "Fuck!" I cried out.
"Straight to the point, I see," the man says as he comes into the light. He's tall, with jet black hair shaved on the sides and longer on top. He is covered in tattoos. He's wearing a black hoodie with rolled sleeves and a leather cut. There are words on the cut, but I can't make them out. He's also wearing ripped black jeans and biker boots. "First, I'd like to know your name, darling," he says, putting his hands in his jeans pockets. I turned my head and stared at the ceiling.
"Why?" I asked, trying not to show any fear.
"Cause I'd like to know who I'm talking to," he said with a chuckle.
"I'd like to know the same," I said, clearing my throat and turning my head to look at him.
"Hah, my name is Issac. Your turn,"
"Delilah," I answered, giving him a short answer and looking back at the ceiling.
"Delilah?" He asked, crossing his arms.
"Where am I, and why am I here?" I ignored his question. He sighed.
"You're in an MR,"
"A what?!" I shouted, spinning my head to look at him.
"Listen, Delilah, and I don't feel like playing games anymore. Either you tell me who you are, or I'm gonna start ripping your stitches out one by one," he said, leaning over me and stroking my shoulder. He grinned at me. I became scared but tried not to show it. I sighed.
"Fuck you," I spat. He sighed and shook his head. Why the fuck did I say that? I thought to myself. I felt him grab and rip a stitch out. "God damn it!" I screamed, jumping. I made a fist and squeezed hard. I started breathing hard.
"I don't want to hurt you anymore," he said, still leaning over me and looking into my eyes. His eyes were a bright hazel, and he had a thin scar across his neck over his tattoo. I leaned up closer to his face. I gritted my teeth.
"Bullshit, you probably get off on this shit," he sighed and shook his head again. He grabbed another stitch and ripped it out quickly. "Fuck!" I screamed even louder. Tears started gathering in my eyes. I felt the blood run down my shoulder and chest. He looked me in the eye again, and I sucked my lips in. He grabbed another stitch. "Okay! Okay! It's Hopkins!" I gave in. I started shaking. He stood up, grabbed a towel, and started wiping his hands.
"See? Was it that hard?" he sighed, looking at me. "I don't want to hurt you, Delilah."
"It's too late for that," I said, sniffling. He looked at me, then at the ceiling. "Can you take my hands out of these straps, please?" I asked.
"No," he cleared his throat. "General!" He yelled. The door opened, and an older man started walking in. He had a long white beard. His hair slicked back, just like Issac's. He was also covered in tattoos. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a leather cut over it. The man walked over to us. "Could you fix her stitches and give her some painkillers?"
"You got it," the man agreed. He walked away, and I could hear him digging for things. Issac turned to me.
"Do you have a family?" He asked. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Yes," I whispered. The older man walked over to me and turned on a brighter light. I squinted, trying to adjust my eyes to the brightness. The older man put a syringe in my IV and started pushing the liquid into the needle.
"I'll make sure you get back to them," Issac said, turning and walking out of the room. I slowly turned my head at the older man and got tunnel vision, and then everything went black.
I woke up sitting in a car. While looking around, I rubbed my eyes. Unfortunately, my shoulder is still hurting.
"Ah, we meet again. Good afternoon," I heard someone say. I opened my eyes wider and saw Issac in the driver's seat. I looked around quickly. I was in the back of a two-door car. We were in front of my building when I looked out the window.
"How the fuck do you know where I live?" I spat, looking out the window. "And why the fuck am I trapped in the backseat?! And what the fuck just happened to me?!"
"I know a lot of things about you, Delilah, or should I call you Del?" He said, smirking. I got annoyed.
"Bullshit, dude," I yelled. He turned to look at me, bit his lip, and looked out the passenger window.
"Delilah Lee Hopkins, 19 years old, just moved here from San Antonio, Texas, to get into college. Your parents are Leeanne Hopkins, and Frank Hopkins is still currently living in San Antonio. You currently work at the Main Street Thrift store and are in debt. Also, to answer your second question, you're in the backseat of my car because you were asleep, so I laid you in the back to bring you home. What's happening is you were shot, but we've taken care of that, so you can send us a thank-you card in the mail. Oh, and here's $2,000 to keep your mouth shut. Don't ask any more questions. When you need your stitches out, I'll find you," he said as he looked back at me again and grinned, handing me an envelope. I looked at him in confusion. I didn't know whether I should speak. He got out of the car, and as he got up, I could see the pistol handle in the back of his pants.
