10.
The pain.
Oh, the pain was unbearable. It never seemed to cease, only get worse as time passed by. All of my body ached, a pulsing pain washing through my body. I wanted to scream... but that'd show weakness. I held it in, allowing the pain to increase.
What happened?
I remember hearing screams before the darkness engulfed me. It dawned on me that the screams were mine.
I was the one screaming.
I remembered the pain, the scream and everything before that, but I don't remember how the pain arose, why the scream was formed. At that point, I realized that my eyes were closed, shielding me from the real world.
Shielding me from my future, as it seemed.
So I didn't make any move to open them. I could, believe me. I wasn't in a coma or anything; I knew that much because I could move my fingers and toes.
Instead, I imagined what had happened. I remember having the barrel of a gun being pressed into my back. I remember it raining Gallagher Girls. I remember the fights. I remember their back-up that arrived. I remember Cassandra pulling out her gun. Her gun. She shot me.
I hadn't realized, while I was remembering the details of what happened when I was awake, that I had completely ignored the pain; ignored everything.
It was as if I was in a room in the back of my mind where I could block anything and everything out entirely. It made me – Mikayla Alexandra Robinson – feel... invincible.
"Is she awake?" I heard a male voice ask. I came out of the room in my mind to listen, which meant the pain came back. Twice as bad. I lay perfectly still, even though the pain made me want to spasm. My muscles were yelling at me to move, to try to release some of the pain.
"Not yet," what sounded like a male doctor said. The other guy sighed deeply, as the doctor walked out. I heard the guy stand up from his seat on my left, and walk to close the door, before his footsteps came closer to me.
A hand grabbed mine, rubbing circles slowly on my palm. I recognized the voice; however, I couldn't place it.
"Hi Mik," the voice said softly. "A guy came to me two days ago; he told me that you were shot. I didn't know who he was, but I believed him. He asked me if I knew you, and I seriously wondered why. He looked a bit like a- a- a bodyguard. The way he looked at me was slightly scary, to be honest. When I got here, I was a little shocked that you were in such a bad place."
When he mentioned me being shot, the pain increased. I so badly wanted to scream out and move my body to release some pain, or even go back into the room in my head. But he had me hooked. I wanted to hear what he had to say.
"The man was here when I arrived." He continued. "He said he wanted me to come in case you had amnesia. How he knew me is beyond me. Maybe he's a spy, wouldn't that be funny, Mik? The doctors say you're in a blood-induced coma. They say you lost a lot of blood when you were shot, so they said you needed a transfusion. I offered but they wouldn't take my blood. I have no idea why. I wish I could've gotten here earlier."
I was in a coma? For how long?
"I missed you, Mik. Everyone back home miss you. I went to your Dad's grave last week, just to have a talk with him. I told him about you coming to Gallagher. I think he was impressed, I wouldn't know," he chuckled lightly.
I heard him talking again, however the pain was too unbearable. So, I fell asleep, leaving the guy talking to just a body.
The next time I woke up, I couldn't take the pain. I couldn't pretend that I was still asleep.
I screamed.
I whimpered.
I groaned.
Doctors rushed in, trying to restrain me as I thrashed around, attempting to release the tension and the pain. I shook of all the doctors, and sprinted out of the door. I didn't get far before my legs gave way underneath me, causing me to clatter the floor, my muscles tensing and contracting in pain.
I screamed.
I whimpered.
I groaned.
My eyes were squeezed shut, as I felt hands holding me to the floor of the hospital wing. I tried so hard to go back into the room in my head, but I couldn't.
I didn't need to.
The pain was gone. My muscles relaxed on to the cold marble. I was lifted up and carried back to my hospital bed. I could hear people whispering around me, I could feel their eyes on me; wary, as if I'd run away again. But I was too tired; too sore.
Sheets were what I felt around me next. My eyes were still squeezed shut, as a dull ache washed over my body. Tubes and needles were being placed in my arms.
"Ms Robinson?" a female voice asked. I breathed out deeply, trying to ignore the pain, while I opened my eyes. No one was in the room, except for the female doctor. The walls were white, the floor was white and the ceiling was white. Typical hospital room.
"Are you in any pain-"she started to ask, but I cut her off by sitting up, tugging at my IV, oxygen and drip.
"Where are my friends?" I asked urgently.
The doctor smiled. "Don't worry, dear. They're okay. They left 8 weeks ago with just scratches, bruises, and cuts. Nothing major."
"8 weeks?" I asked confused. "How long was I asleep?"
"9 weeks. You were in a blood-induced coma. You were a very lucky young lady," she said. I looked at her properly then. She was tall, thin and slender. She wore dark wash jeans, a blue camisole with a white lab coat over the top. All her brown hair was up on the top of her head, in a messy bun. "My name is Tara, I'm your personal doctor," she smiled.
There was a glint in her eyes that told me she knew. "You're one of us," I stated rather than asked.
"Yes," she replied, somewhat impressed. "You really are as good as they say." I had no idea who they were or where they got their information from, but I was going to find out.
She checked my monitors before leaving. Just as she was out of the door, she stuck her head back around. "Oh, you can leave in a week. Just after we make sure everything is okay, and that you aren't in any pain or discomfort."
When she left, I turned the television on, tuning into Good Morning America. It was 10am. By the time it had finished, I had long fallen asleep, enjoying my first dreamless sleep.
I woke up at 11:42pm due to my spy senses waking me up. Someone's head was leaning on mine. That person was sobbing quietly, muttering incoherent words under their breath. It was a boy, I knew that much. His brown hair was dishevelled. A sign of distress. As if he'd tried to pull his hair out. I moved my hand slightly, attempting to disturb the guy. It worked. His head popped up, his blue eyes sleepy, wide and bloodshot.
I gasped.
{[(3rd Person)]}
Joshua Abrams was a strong man. He never turned anything down, always up for a challenge. Somehow, he was never easily surprised. He never did anything without reason.
Joseph Solomon was probably the best spy ever. He never said no to missions, always taking harder ones on every year. Thanks to his training, he never was surprised, and he was almost always prepared for anything. He never did anything without reason.
They were equal. Almost.
"Joshua?" Joe asked, walking up behind the group of high school sophomores. A boy with wavy brown hair and a strong build – similar to Joe's – turned around, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"That's me. Do I know you?" he asked.
Joe shook his head. "Follow me." Josh looked at his friends, confusedly, before following the older man. Josh didn't know why he followed him. Maybe it was because he had that look about him. Maybe it was because he was older and bigger than him.
Once they were far enough away, Joe stopped and turned to the younger man. "You know Mikayla Robinson?" he asked.
Josh looked confused. "Yes, why? Is something wrong?" he asked eyes instantly wide at the thought that his childhood sweetheart was hurt.
"8 weeks ago she was shot," Joe said hesitantly.
Josh's eyes darkened, worried. "Where is she?"
When they first met – though, Josh can't remember it – they thought they were completely opposite. Josh was a civilian, Joe was a spy. Josh was in school, Joe was teaching in school. Josh was young, Joe was old. They were too caught up looking for the differences, that they didn't bother searching for the similarities.
Well, turns out they have a lot more in common than they first thought.
Mikayla Alexandra Robinson was one of those similarities.
A/N: Extremely sorry for the long wait. It wasn't because it was Christmas an' all, I was just sick.
Merry Christmas by the way.