This is ancient. I just read it again for the first time in over a year and decided it was worthy of posting.
All I could see was darkness. All I could hear was a faint, muffled voice. A man's voice. Slowly it became louder and clearer, and other sounds began to rush in around it.
"Can you hear me?"
The voice repeated the phrase several times before I was able to comprehend it. Suddenly, there was a blueish light and my eyes were opening. I could see now. The scene was blurry, but it was there.
"Can you move?"
A figure knelt beside me. I realized then that I was on my back on a cold floor and there was something cushioning my head. When my eyes could finally focus I recognized the voice and the figure, it was Leon.
Reality was starting to make sense.
"Can you move?" Leon pleaded.
I could feel his hand pressing against the crown of my head.
"I don't know."
I spat out the words unthinking and reached up for his arm in a panic.
"What happened?" I gasped.
Leon caught my hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.
"Lots of stuff."
He released the pressure from my head and held his hand before my eyes, it was red with blood. I choked out a small cry.
Leon reapplied the pressure and then squeezed my hand tight. His face was expressionless.
"Relax, I think it looks worse than it is. You know how head wounds are."
I stared up at the ceiling and sighed, relieved by Leon's serene tone.
"How long have I been out?"
"Not long. More importantly, how do you feel?"
"Like a million bucks."
I grimaced as my head began to throb.
"There are some medical supplies, just down the hall. Do you think you can walk?"
His eyes burned into mine.
"I... I don't know."
"We can't stay here, Claire, it's not safe. I'll carry you."
He crouched over me, getting his arms in position.
"Wait. I'll give it a go." I said, breaking his unbearable gaze as I lifted my head.
The corner of Leon's mouth curled slightly upward. He put an arm around my back as he hoisted me to my feet. He steadied me at my elbow and bent down to pick up his bloodied jacket. I cringed inwardly, embarrassed that my blood had ruined the garment. Leon seemed unconcerned with it.
"Okay?" He asked. I nodded.
He cautiously led me down the corridor to a small windowless room. It contained a desk, a chair, and a First Aid kit that was mounted to the wall just inside the door. Leon gestured for me to sit in the chair and in one fluid motion he tore the kit from the wall, plopped it on the desk and flung it open. He gently drew my head forward and down, towards his stomach, and then, retrieving an alcohol swab, he began to clean my wound. After a while Leon broke the silence with a throaty, "Heh."
"It's like I thought." he said, as if to himself, "Not bad at all."
He tossed the used swabs into a waste basket under the desk.
"Just let me patch it up. It'll staunch the blood until we can get you some stitches."
He used some gauze and medical tape for a makeshift bandage. When he was finished, I sat up and leaned back against the chair. My head was pounding. He stared down at me and placed his hand firmly on my shoulder.
"Good as new." he said, and his eyes flicked back and forth, searching mine. He pulled his hand away, wiping off the red on his crisp white shirt.
I peered up at his face, straining to read it, but there was no trace of anything. He glanced back, catching my eyes as he shifted his weight towards me.
"Another hole that needs patching." he said, staring me down from under his hair. His voice was husky and almost breathless.
I was utterly lost with his comment, so I let it hang in the air for a few moments. Finally, he dropped his hand to my leg and ran his index finger over a fresh tear in the knee of my jeans.
"Oh. Shit." I huffed.
As I looked up our eyes met and he smiled wryly. He brought his hand to hover at my shoulder, as if he expected me to fall off the chair.
"Do you need something for pain?"
It felt more like a suggestion than a question. I just shook my head. I could handle this headache.
"I'll be fine." I assured him.
Leon smirked, "Yeah. You will."