A/N: Due to haters, I'm gonna twist up the plot a little bit. I realize that what I didwaskind of weird…so I'm changing it back.
Terrorists Stole My Pants: Here's why I don't update every day: Um, I have a life. Sorry to be so crude, but it's true. And also, I share the computer with my sister, my mom, and my dad, who works from home. Long story there. But anyway, I get about 3 hours a day on it to do everything I need to like email and FanFiction – that includes beta work, author work, and just plain old reading. So yeah.
Just to let you know, I was happily typing along when my computer died with my nearly 2,000 words unsaved to the hard drive. When I restarted it, I had an innocent 35 words staring back at me. I started crying.
Disclaimer: Me no own.
I couldn't help it. Really, I didn't mean to burst out laughing. It just kind of bubbled out of my mouth and floated into Ms. Sylvester's incredulous ears.
"What?" she snapped. "You want him to be killed?"
"We're not dating!" I giggled. Just the word "dating" made me laugh harder.
She knit her eyebrows. "Then the reports of you two –"
I closed my eyes. It – the kiss – flowed back into my memory. My first, you know. "I'm not denying what happened," I said, not looking at her. "It was a mistake. I let him do it. And now I regret it." Then something registered in my brain. "Wait – you were WATCHING?"
"Of course," said Ms. Sylvester, irritated. "We were watching from the moment you left the hospital and your brother started following you, and made ourselves known as soon as he left."
My breath left my body in a whoosh. "What did you do with Fang?" I hissed.
She laughed lightly. "Oh, we're not authorized to take him," she said, glad she'd managed to provoke me. "He looked so angry when he left, I'm glad we're not authorized to take him. And one more thing, Seventeen," she said, pushing herself up, "I'd like you to know that you've said exactly what we anticipated you to in this conversation. We decided to do a little experiment on you to see what you would say if I talked to you in this way. And you reacted exactly how we expected. Just thought you might want to know how predictable you are."
"Go to hell!" I shouted at her retreating back. "Was that in your precious script?"
She was back at my side in a flash. "It would do you good to remember that we have Jordan Seymour in our hands," she hissed through the bars. "Anything you say is a liability on him. And it would also benefit you to remember that I am authorized to kill you."
She was gone.
**!**
-trees. big trees. many trees. mommy and rocky and rex. blue sky. cory in mommy arms. cory smile in mommy head. mommy stop moving when cory hand hit her eye. picture in cory head. girl in cory head. long yellow head. big blue eye. (cory eye better…) cory falling. rocky catch cory. mommy loud noise. mommy on knees. mommy on belly. rex loud noise. rocky loud noise. rex on knees. rex hand on mommy back. rex shake hand. mommy shake. rex hand gone. mommy still shake. mommy face wet. mommy silent. everybody silent.-
**!**
When I wake, I'm strapped to a bed.
Panic surges through me, and I thrash. Or attempt to. A thick Velcro strap holds down my chest. My wrists and ankles are bound as well, my palms face up, my jeans cinched tightly. My T-shirt and jacket are gone, but my necklace with my sister's dog tags is still there, and so are my jeans and sneakers.
I attempt to sit up and fail miserably – the strap is too tight. My head flops down and my eyes close. I breathe deeply, trying to mount the panic and bring it under control. It feels like I'm trying to surf on a tsunami.
Without any warning, something solid connects with my cheekbone. My head flips over to the side and my breath flies out of my mouth in a gasp.
"That's for what you did to her," someone growls, and then the solid thing connects with my nose. With a loud crack, blood breaks free and cascades down my face. My eyes fly open to see a man standing in front of me, examining his fist.
"So was that," he adds. He's wearing a long white lab coat and pastel blue scrubs. He has a shiny bald head and shiny gold glasses. Blood splatters his dark brown hands, glistening as he clenches and unclenches his fists.
"Jones wanted me to get some blood from you," he laughs, "but he didn't specify how." He smirks at me, his nametag flashing MR. SMITH in my dazed eyes. He turns on his heel and glides out of the room, his lab coat swishing back and forth behind him.
Blood flows down my throat, and I raise my head and wipe my mouth on my bare shoulder, smearing blood there as well. I keep my head lifted as I take in my surroundings. I exhale as I realize.
"Oh, shit."
So what were they planning to do with me? I glanced down at my stomach for the first time, watching my muscles clench, and notice the black stitches closing up my abdomen. So whatever they were planning to do, I guess they'd done it already. I really hope that they weren't planning on infusing me with squirrel DNA or shit like that. Speaking of which…
So Holly has wings. I'll admit I didn't see that one coming, but I suppose it makes sense. The way Rex never wanted me to even brush her back on accident. The way she'd always get really quiet and nervous whenever I'd mention how weird it was that her brother had wings and she didn't. How she was always wearing her brother's black jacket with the convenient slits stabbed in the back.
I'm interrupted from my reverie by Mr. Smith. He glides back in the room with a glass vial in his big hand. "I didn't get enough last time, so Jones made me come back and get more," he grumbles.
I tense up and wait for him to break more bones, but he just places the vial under my still gushing nose. He takes it away before I get to see how much he put in and then departs. "I'll send in someone to fix your nose," he calls, before shutting the door behind him.
My nose stings. Badly. I've had a broken nose before. It's what happens when you've been taking martial arts since the age of three. But I've never been in a situation where I couldn't set it. If it didn't get set soon, I'll have to re-break it, and I really don't want to do that.
I cough and wipe my face on my other shoulder. My hair is getting stuck in it, but at least the blood is slowing down. I lay my head down on the hard table and close my eyes, remembering.
I really wish those wolf guys – Erasers, Rex called them – hadn't come when they did. But in a way, I'd really glad they did. I mean, who knows what might have happened if they didn't? I shiver, and not just because I was freezing cold.
The door opens again, steering me out of thoughts I'm not sure were going to be PG for very much longer. A woman comes in, also in a lab coat. She eyes me, her gaze flicking over my exposed chest, before looking at my face. I sigh and close my eyes.
She pulls a stool over next to my bedside table and opened her first-aid kit. I open my eyes and eye her apprehensively. "What are you going to do?" I ask her.
"Clean you up, and then set your nose," she informs me. Her voice is raspy, like she's been smoking. Her brown hair is pulled back into a tight bun and she has perfect bangs ending just above her eyebrows. She has small, pastel yellow-framed glasses, and she looks young – only about 25 or something. She opens up a compartment and gets out some cotton balls and rubbing alcohol, then moves my hair out of my face and freezes, her gaze flicking up and down from my eyebrows to my ears. I smirk.
"What?" I ask.
She cleared her throat. "Nothing," she mutters, dropping her gaze and pushing the cotton ball onto my face a little harder than necessary. I gasp as alcohol trickles down my chin and onto my neck. "Watch it!" I yell.
"It would help if you would stop shaking!" she yells back.
"I'm not shaking!" But as soon as she says it, I realize she's right. "I've been tied down for a long time," I say. "Without moving. That's probably why."
"If I untie you, will you promise to stay here?" she asks me uncertainly.
"Of course." NOT! But she believes me. Her fingers peel up the chest strap first, hesitantly; then she does my feet. Finally she unpeels the wrist ones, and I'm up in a flash. I book it out of there.
"SEYMOUR! GET BACK HERE!" she yells after me. But I'm long gone. I dash madly around the corners until I make it to the big warehouse room with the rows of crates, spying Holly lying shaking in the corner.
I sprint to her crate and unlatch it with shaking fingers. She sits up quickly; taking in my bloody face and shoulders, and the stitches on my stomach. "What happened?" she asks.
"No time," I pant. "Let's go!"
She grabs my hand, and we tear away.
Ok…you know the drill…REVIEW! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease! I want 10!
