Author's Note: Hey, so it's like five in the morning, I've been writing all night. I hope that this chapter makes sense. It's the longest chapter for this story, so there you go, haha! Thanks to everyone for your support thus far! I love hearing what you have to say. Now, I need to sleep. Thanks for everything! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC and the story line.
Warnings: Nothing much, maybe a bit of language.
Words Count: 7,170
Monday rolls around, two days following me getting to see the four turtle brothers again and getting the shellphone, was the day I needed it.
I made it through Saturday without leaving my apartment and about two hours before work on Sunday I got a call from Sam asking me if she could take my shift. My normal instinct would have been no, in the nicest way possible, but I was still in a lot of pain and figured I could live taking one day off, especially with all the extra hours I put in on that Thursday night when the police had to be called. So I'm back into work, it's dark out, me and this older woman Mary, were walking around helping out our customers, it was about nine-thirty when the door chimed and three men walked in.
Mary spotted them right away and made a move to go and serve them, as I was working behind the counter, only to stop and freeze up. I pause in the middle of pouring a man with a brief case his second cup of coffee to look up at the obvious thugs waltzing into our diner. One of the men, probably the leader of the trio, walked up to the counter and sat down.
"Hey cutie, how about you and your friend give us a bit of service?" He grins wolfishly, his two friends moving to flank him at the counter. Mary looks at me, eyebrows puled together in worry but I shake my head and walk over to the three and pull out my pad and pen, noting the uncomfortable look on the man I just served's face. He quickly finishes his drink, probably scalding his mouth and throat while doing so, before throwing down some money and scurrying out of the building without even the slightest pause. Everyone else, an old couple, a mother and her teenage daughter and a middle-aged man, talking on his cellphone in the corner, all look on uncomfortably.
"What can I get for you?" I ask, holding up the notepad, pen poised over it. Best to try and be civil and hope they'll go away without any problems.
The leader, a tall scrawny guy with a sleeve tattoo of too dark of figures for me to make out up his right arm, hums to himself, looking through the menu very uninterested. The guy to his left, at least twice my height and three times my body weight, just keeps staring at me with a lecherous eye. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. As I wait, I look at Mary running back and forth helping out customers, her once crisp graying bun now loose and wetted down slightly with sweat. She keeps sending me anxious looks, mouthing apologies every time our eyes connect.
After a full two minutes of just standing there, waiting, I finally say, "I'll come back when you're ready," and turn only making it half a step before I'm called back.
"Wait, cutie, I just found out what I want," he says with a thick Manhattan drawl. The old couple couldn't have run faster from the building if they tried.
I suppress a groan and turn on my heel slowly back toward the three Purple Dragons. "Yes, sir?" I ask dryly, holding up my pen and paper. I watch the woman and her daughter bow their heads and run too, mouthing apologies to Mary and I as they passed.
"Sir?" the man echoes, smiling crookedly. The last man got up and left, quickly with his head bowed. "I like that."
"What can I get for you?" I ask again, not wanting them here any longer than they needed to be. If I had my choice they wouldn't be here to begin with. But as has become apparent the last few days: the fates can be cruel.
"I'm Guy, by the way," says the man - Guy - that crooked smile on his face. It took everything within my power to not roll my eyes and scoff at that name. I just met four giant turtles with better names than that. Thankfully all that happened was my face remained blank, who knows what he would do if I did scoff or mention that? Most certainly nothing good.
I don't say anything, just stare at him and he makes a show of leaning forward on the counter and pulling the flap of my black jacket to the side to look at my name tag. I fight the urge to push his hand away and dump hot coffee on him. He holds onto my jack half a moment longer than he needed to, making my stomach plummet into my shoes. I stepped back a bit to dislodge his hand without being really mean about it, trying to play it off as shifting. Whether he believe it or not didn't show on his face as he leaned back into his seat.
"Taylor," he says and my name sounds like poison to my ears. I can't stop the tightening of my fists around my pen and paper.
"Your order?" I ask through clenched teeth. My eyes flicker over to Guy's lecherous friend, feeling my throat constrict a bit as I try not to outwardly gag at his heavy gaze practically stripping my clothes from my body. My pain from a few days ago was now a dull ache I barely noticed, but it renewed a bit of vigor when I tensed up at his slimy look.
Guy looks between his two friends before smiling up at me. "What I want, Taylor, is for you to feel safe here at your..." he looks around, gesturing to the diner in general, "establishment, so to speak. But, as you know, I'm sure that good things never come cheap so we will be needed just a... small compensation fee, if you will."
I didn't think my stomach could fall farther. I just stare at him, unmoving, mind reeling. I open my mouth about to say...what? I'm not really sure. But I knew that if I mouthed off that would only end in bad news for myself and the people here in the diner with me and I wasn't about to intentionally put others lives in danger because I was feeling a little bulletproof.
Instead I just stood there, closing my mouth, staring back at him. His dark eyes were practically shining in amusement. After a long moment, Guy stands up slowly and makes his way around the corner. It's at this point that I wished I had taken some form of self-defense as a child. Save the day and kicks some royal ass and earn the gratitude from the boss, maybe even get a raise, but that's not what happened.
What happened was, I stood there, frozen in place as we were robbed and the lecher twirled my braid around his fingers, whispering in my ear without me hearing a single word of it. As Mary ad I were robbed, even the kitchen guy, Frank, in the back was, yet all I kept thinking about was this disgusting man, touching me and whispering to me.
That, and only two days into owning the shellphone, did I need it. And the infuriating thing was, is that it was sitting in my locker at the back of the store waiting to be used and there wasn't a chance in hell that I would be able to slip away to grab it. I was given the Holy Grail of opportunities to stop the Purple Dragons from robbing us near blind, and it slipped through my fingers like water. And I was left shaking, not because of fear, but because of anger. Had I had the foresight, I would have texted one of the brothers the moment the Purple Dragons waltzed into the diner.
But I didn't and I had to watch them leaving, cackling and counting money with pride, angry and disgusted with myself. Mary put her arms around me, as if to comfort me, when really I knew it was to comfort herself. Mary is a single mom with a kid getting ready to go to college and has been saving all of her money to send him somewhere good. She could have used the extra money, more than I could. And that just made me feel even worse.
The police were called again that night, as well as the store manager. The police promised to look into it, but I had little hope. Purple Dragons have long since taken over the city and to me, it seemed like the only people fighting back were four giant talking turtles.
A week passed with no repeat of what happened at the diner. We were finally allowed to open again with security cameras and a stern promise from the police that they would be making more rounds in the area. Up police traffic, one of them said. I'm not all that sure what they made me feel. Annoyed? A bit grateful? I'm not sure. Overall, I felt edgy. I kept thinking that they would suddenly come back, but the days kept coming and going with no sign of them, or Andrew, who I have yet to return his flash drive to.
In the pocket of my jacket at all times is the shellphone and the flash drive that I grow more and more curious about as time goes by. It must not have been all that important if Andrew has yet to return it, but at the same time, I can't imagine that not being true, seeing as it looks really expensive.
Every time I walk home from work, I would keep throwing looks over my shoulder, waiting for that shady people that chased me down a little over a week ago to make some sort of appearance but they have yet to do so again, possibly confirming my theory that either their reason for chasing me wasn't good enough to continue or they have timed out to take some time to regroup and plan out their next move. Which out of the two, I hope I'm not stupid for choosing the first one. Or perhaps I'm just predictable like that.
I went to bed tonight, clutching my shellphone, feeling completely uneasy. As I walked home just hours prior, I felt someone following me, or perhaps my nerves have been so fried from going a whole week unable to sleep well while being strung up so tight it's border lining extreme paranoia. I just don't know how to make myself feel better. I don't know who to talk to about what's going on because most wouldn't understand and would probably think that I'm crazy, and the rest have a part to play in my mounting paranoia.
I turn onto my side, clutching the shellphone a moment longer before laying it next to me on the bed and turning away and closing my eyes. My slumber tonight, just like from the last few days, is light and not at all restful. It's the worst night of sleep I've had in a long time. After an unbearably long time of just lying there with my eyes closed wishing for slumber that refused to come, I finally crawl out of bed, grab the shellphone and step out of the window and onto the metal scaffolding stairs spiraling up the outside of my building. It's nearing sunrise. I must have been slipping in and our of slumber for hours.
Thank god I've got the next few days off to try and wind down from my panic and prepare for work again. I sit down and let my legs dangle off over the side, hanging on the metal bars that prevent me from toppling over the edge all the way to the concrete below. This is the first time in a long time that I've just sat outside, no long sleeves, no hats, no sunglasses and no sunscreen. If anything it's a little liberating. It helps me forget that I'm not as normal as I'd want to be. I had forgotten how much I liked sunrise.
They were peaceful. The start of something new. Hopefully today is going to be a bit warmer than it is right now. It's actually really cold, I have to wrap my arms around myself to try and keep my warmth in. My soft cotton shorts and large tee-shirt aren't enough to protect me from the dropping temperature of the city. With a quick glance at my phone, showing that it's almost five in the morning. It's going to start staying dark later into the mornings.
After a few more minutes of my shivering, watching the sun slowly rise overhead. I've finally had enough of my own shivering, so I pull my legs back through and climb to my feet, smoothing out my shorts a bit before turning around and kneeling, getting ready to climb back into my house when I notice directly across from me, my front door knob is slowly turning. At first, I just stare, wondering if my eyes are playing a tricks on me. I edge in slowly and quietly through the window and take a few steps closer, squinting at the blurry image of the door. I silently curse my horrible vision before I see the slightly blurred door start to open. I quickly, and yet still quietly dive out onto the fire escape again and close the window almost all the way before stepping out of the view of the window.
My heart thumbs loudly in my ears as I slowly peak around the corner after a full minute to see someone actually in my house. I don't catch much, but I don't have to. All I know is I have to get the holy hell out of there. I turn and, as quietly as humanly possibly - and I don't know how quietly that is as I'm too busy screaming internally at not only the invasion of privacy but also because it's probably those same people who I just today wrote off again - down the emergency fire escape all the way down to the bottom before climbing down the later and onto the concrete.
As if by fate as soon as my feet touch the ground, two guys, one having an oh-so-familiar scar on his face rounds the corner into the alley facing me. I push my hair out of my line of sight and for a moment we just stare at each other, as if wondering if we were all three seeing what we thought we were. My flight instinct kicked in right away and so I turned onto my heel and ran in the opposite direction.
The concrete is painful against my bare feet. I'm not heading anywhere in specific. All I know is that I need to put as much distance between myself and all of those guys and their reasons for chasing me as possible. My heart is pounding and all I'm seeing is blurs. I stumble a bit and fall to my knees, but the pain barely registers on my radar. I climb back onto my feet and keep running, weaving in between people and even being absent minded enough to run into the street, almost getting hit by a car in the process. I'm not sure how I slipped by relatively undamanged, but before I knew it, I was lost within my own home city.
I don't know how long I've been running or how far I got, but eventually the adrenaline wore off and I fell to my knees, much to my own discomfort, in a back alley, wide enough for a single car to fit in. There is some kind of tarp overhead, probably to prevent rain or something from doing... whatever. My brain really hurts and I think I'm in pain, but for the life of me, I can't seem for really form a coherent thought.
I feel my arms and legs, pulling me to the back of the alley, curling up beside some trash. I think my feet are bleeding, and they hurt, but I can't bring myself to focus on either of them. My heart is pounding like mad and yet I can't seem to remove the heavy weights put over my eyelids as they pull them down. Heavier and heavier. I was never all that strong, regardless of whether I wanted to be or not. For some reason, being strong never came easily to me. Perhaps it was because I was babied all my life, catered to my every need like I was some kind of delicate princess. Perhaps it was the seconds in-between the catering, the scorned looks from my siblings, the tired exasperations of my parents.
The constant worries, on both sides. Will she get burned? Is it too hot for her to keep wearing those long sleeves? What if this sunscreen is somehow defective? Is that tiny red blotch of skin the start of cancer? Will she get mom and dad's attention again? We can't go to the fair as a family because it'll be too sunny out there for her? Do mom and dad think of her as their only child? Do they know that she isn't perfect?
With those questions swirling around in my head, I slip into slumber.
I know I'm dreaming right away, because I'm standing out in my backyard in a beautiful, yet ironic, sundress, staring up at the sky. My arms are outstretched like wings at my sides, basking in the warmth of the sun. I could feel the gentle breeze blow across my bare arms. I could see the strands of my long white hair sway back and forth around me. I don't feel the familiar oiliness that accommodates my skin whenever I go outside. I feel different. There is no swelling fear that I always have in the pit of my stomach whenever I head outside that this this might be the day that ultimately leads to my death.
I always knew it was crazy. Everyone dies eventually but I've seen enough pictures, and heard how horrible skin cancer is going to be more times than I care to admit, to know that it's not the way I want to live my life until I die. I know that there is very little that I can do to prevent any of the other cancers, but I'll be damned if I don't do all I can to prevent this one.
So that's why this is strange to me. Perhaps as a kid, I knew, but as an adult, I've never been out in the sun without globs of sunblock on my body to help keep me safe. But standing out here, as an adult, feeling the unobscured burning heat of the sun beating down on me, I don't feel the least bit frightened. In fact, I feel free. At peace, even. I never thought that was possible.
That's how I know this is a dream. I would never have been this calm out like this. But that doesn't mean it's unpleasant. In fact, it's a dream I've had for as long as I can remember. Moreso when I was young and wanted to be just like all of the other kids but now, as I've grown older, the dream started happening less and less until now it only happens once every blue moon.
And oh does the blue moon shine now.
I'm just standing in the backyard, dirt beneath the soles of my feet, green grass curling around my toes. It felt so nice and peaceful. I always both enjoyed and hated these dreams. I loved them because they make me feel the most normal. Or at least, a lot more like everyone else. When I'm inside and with people who I'm used to and are used to me, I feel normal enough, they don't tend to stare and they treat me as if I was just like them. But I also hate these dreams because once the sun really starts shining and I open my eyes, the illusion is shattered and the fear returns.
I remember, back when I was ten years old, I would seek sanctuary from my siblings and parents on the window seat in the attic. I would just sit there and stare out at the world beyond, watching the boys ride by on their skateboards and the girls walking in clusters of three or four, throwing their heads back to laugh all glossed up with long hair, curly or straight.
Everything out there looked so beautiful and bright. There was very little I wouldn't do to just be part of that world. I felt like the little mermaid Ariel looking out at the world above, wanting nothing more than to be able to step out of my life and into theirs. I wanted to be just like them. To go outside and not fear that something horrible would happen to me just by being outside. Just for a meager moment of being outside, just a smidge too long, could have a lifetime of consequences. I'm jealous of Sam's smooth spray on tan or my sister, Julia's sun kissed skin from years of track and great joy of the outside.
"You're beautiful too," Mom would whisper in my ear at night when I was younger and she would tuck me in at night. She would grab a handful of my hair and let it slide from her fingers strand by strand like a waterfall of snowy white silk. "Just a different type of beautiful. Julia and Hannah and you are all different. You are all beautiful in your own right. There is no need to be jealous, or upset."
That was so easy for her to say. Mom took wonderful care of herself. Kept her hair a deep luscious chocolate brown with eyes so dark they could stare right through me. She went to the gym three times a week to stay physically fit and rarely ate moderately healthily. She's been a stay at home mom ever since my oldest brother, Brandon was born when my mom was seventeen.
Julia is practically a carbon copy of our mother. The same long brown hair and dark eyes, just eighteen months younger than Brandon. She enjoyed spending her time outdoors, gardening and doing nature walks. She was always athletic. Long, strong arms and legs all wrapped up in neatly sculpted muscles. Like our mom, she hardly wore any make-up and yet still looked so drop dead gorgeous. She works hard as a fitness coach part time. The rest of her time is dedicated to her high school sweetheart.
While Hannah has more of our father's looks. She has short, yet eloquently styled dirty blond hair with lightly tanned skin and large, dark green eyes. She's just as tall as Julia with a dust of freckles her face, under her eyes and over her nose. She wore more make-up than Julia and spent more of her time in-doors as a professional beautician. She's the one in our family that was a lot more into fashion than the rest of us girls, my mom included. She was also well on her way to starting her own business with her best friend and business partner.
Then there was me. Short with white hair and almost purple eyes. Really really pale and while I was thin, there was hardly any muscle. I was average height as a little girl, but when I was suppose to go through puberty, it was almost like I half went through it and then stopped. Next to me, my sisters and even my mom looked like powerful amazon women and I looked like a hobbit, excluding the large hairy feet. But if I did have hobbit feet, it wouldn't make me any less of a spectacle, or more. I'd be surprise if people weren't wondering if I had hobbit feet.
Elijah Woods somehow made being a hobbit look adorable.
Julia was almost fourteen when I was born and Hannah was eleven. My eldest sibling Brandon was fifteen and my two twin brothers were both five. It was like some kind of joke that all my brothers and sisters grew up all tall and beautiful and strong and I grew up short and strange and weak.
I think out of all of them, Brandon was the only one that didn't hate me or at least wasn't annoyed with me. I think Brandon realized long ago that he wasn't the baby of the house and wasn't going to be treated like he was. He had gotten used to it growing up and had just become quietly detached. He was the one of us that us that followed my dad's footsteps and worked his way through college to become a medical researcher.
My twin older brothers, Jake and Kev, are working their way through life. Jake became a music teacher at a local high school while Kev is in college working to be an architect. And then there's me, nineteen years old, working as a waitress for next to nothing. Yeah, mom and dad sure must be proud of me. When I set out on my own I wanted as little help from my parents as possible. I got an apartment and job on my own. I even left my phone at home and rarely keep into contact with my family. I will once I'm on solid ground and able to buy my own phone and make the payments without it drowning me. For the past year I've been doing the best I can and have somehow managed to survive, until now.
And with that thought flittering across my mind, I open my eyes. I look around with blurry vision but eventually close my eyes, unable to make anything out. My legs are pulled up to my chest, my back is pressed against the side of the building behind me and my head rests on my knees. I blink a few times and rub my eyes before sitting up, reaching up to rub out the kink in my neck and shoulders.
I look around, trying to make sense of what is going on around me. I'm still so tired, but I am lucid enough to realize that I'm outside and that it's bright outside and yet still I managed to pull myself into a dark corner and remain hidden from the sun. The memories from... earlier come back to me. And it's strange. My heart rate picks up and I become just slightly more aware of my surroundings, but complete panic doesn't set in. But it is then that I realize my feet really do hurt and that I'm a lot more tired than I should be.
I stretch out my right leg and cringe dazedly at the sight of my torn up feet and at how unbelievably hard it is to move. I think it's still pretty cold out. The blood is dry and caked on but I can't figure out why they started bleeding in the first place. And that's when I noticed the blood down the back of my right leg. I twist my leg a little a spot something had stuck me in the back of the leg just below my knee and when I pulled my leg up, I bent it weird and made it cut me.
I reach down to tenderly touch it, and maybe try and figure out what it is, but I reach for it with my right hand that was settled against my stomach. The same hand still holding the shellphone. I'd like to say that even while dazed and extremely confused, I managed to pull myself from my slump and figure a way out of this situation. I managed to trace these guys back to their ring leader, kick some ass, and save the day. Maybe join in with the four brothers and help save the day. But I didn't. I didn't even try.
I'm currently not feeling even slightly bulletproof. If anything, I feel like jelly, malleable and shapeless. And if I was being completely honest with myself, I wanted nothing more than, at that moment, to be under the carefully constructed net that my parents insisted that I kept over myself at all times. I'm not very strong. I don't know what I'm doing and to be really honest, I'm scared. Perhaps not so much at this moment. I'm moreso numb right now than anything. But I wouldn't even know where to start. I wouldn't know where to start looking or even if I would be playing into some kind of ploy. I'm not built like that.
So, I send a silent prayer to whoever my semi lucid brain managed to conjure up, and turn on the phone. My eyes dip closed for a moment without my consent. I almost let myself slip back into dreamland, remembering how much I yearned for it, what I hope is just a few hours before, but then I remember where I am and force my eyes open again. There were people chasing you. How in the world did they not find you? Are you well enough hidden? Did you run faster than they expected? No, don't worry about that now. Worry about getting away!
I shake myself, feeling my head rattle a bit before focusing on the shellphone again. I run my fingers along the smooth glass screen, with more difficulty than I remember, before hitting the contact button. The very first contact reads: April O'Neil. I was about to hit enter, when I realized that that couldn't be one of the brothers. That was obviously a girl's name. Or maybe it was one of those names like mine where it could be both male and female. But, April? Isn't that a month? Oh, dear lord, what is happening to my brain?
I shake myself again and scroll down a bit more. The next name is under c; Casey Jones. And my finger hovered over that name for a moment but my mind managed to stop me as I have no clue who that was. No face to the name. I vaguely remember someone mentioning that name to me. One of the brothers maybe? But he was not who I need to get into contact with, right? No, he wasn't one of the brothers. Or was he?
Donnie, the next one reads and that one I somewhat recognize. A flash of purple. He was the purple masked turtle. That's right.
I click on the name and the call button before slowly lowering my head to my knees, eyes drooping closed and pulling to phone to rest onto my cheek. After two quiet rings on my end, the phone clicks and there is a moment of silence that follows before a hesitant, "Taylor?"
"Donnie..?" I croak, my throat is dry, I realize. I wonder how long I've been sitting out in the cold. How long have I been asleep? I just can't figure out why I'm so out of it. "I think something... something is wrong, Donnie... I think it's an emergency. I..." I trail off, slipping into slumber a bit more.
"Taylor? Hey, Taylor, what's wrong? Where are you?" Donnie calls through the phone, the pitch of his voice rising. I can hear him moving - running? - somewhere. He says something that is too muffled for me to understand. Maybe I'm just too out of it. What is wrong with me?
"I'm sitting..." I mumble, pulling my head up and resting it back against the brick of the building behind me.
"Taylor," a different voice says, slightly distant. "It's Leo, can you hear me?"
My head bobs a bit and I have to really do a full body shake to pull myself back to reality. "Leo...?" I mumble, squinting at the wall across from me. It's a wonder no body seems to have stumbled upon me yet. "Leo.." I repeat, trying to remember which one that was. Blue. Yes, he was the blue masked turtle. "Leo, I'm cold," I tell him.
"Cold?" Leo echoes. "You're somewhere cold?"
"I wonder," another voice says, "could she be outside, hm?"
A sigh. "Not now, Raph."
"Is that a stupid question?" Raph asks, his voice a mixture of confused and annoyed.
"Should we ask her?" the final brother asks. Mikey, my brain tells me. I open my eyes wide and fight the urge to blink for fear I'll just close my eyes and not be able to wake up again. "Is that a stupid question?" Mikey asks.
"Not really," Donnie says. "Are you outside, Taylor?"
"Yeah..." I murmur. "And it's cold. I'm so... so tired, Donnie. Why am I so tired?"
"That's no good," Donnie says, a strange urgency now in his voice. "Too much exposure to the cold could cause hypothermia. Now, I know it's not too cold outside, but she doesn't sound very lucid. Her words are slurred." It takes me a lot longer than I think it should have to realize that he wasn't talking to me. I close my eyes in a very long blink, my eyes burning a bit from a mixture of holding them open for too long and the cold.
"Everything will be alright, Taylor," Leo says assuredly. "We are on our way. Where are you?"
"Outside..." I say, blinking slowly.
"Well that sure narrows it down," Raph says, annoyed. "Come on, Taylor, give us something to work with! What can you see?"
"See..?" I mumble looking around me. "Trash... and a wall."
"Holy shit," Mikey gasps. "She could be anywhere! Ow!"
"Shut up, Mikey!" Raph snaps. "Anything a little more specific?"
I look around for anything with a name. "Milky way."
There is a long pause before Mikey finally says, "Guys, I don't think we can reach her if she's in a carton of milk. Do you know how many cartons of milk are in New York city? Yeah, a lot-ow!"
"She's talking about the candy bar," Donnie says. "I hope."
"It doesn't matter," Leo says. "Donnie, can you trace her shellphone?"
"Oh, yes!" Then the sound of something moving rapidly. Feet padding against a rough surface?
"Maybe this is a stupid question," Mikey starts.
"It probably is," Raph interjects, bringing out a sharp huff of air from me. I'm too tired to really laugh. It's getting harder to open my eyes again after each blink. I sure hope they can hurry.
"But," Mikey stresses a moment before continuing, "are you okay? Like, hurt or anything?"
There is a moment of silence on the other end before Leo finally says, "Yeah, that actually is a good question."
"Hurt?" I repeat, staring down at my legs. "I think so. Yeah, I think that's blood." I reach down and touch my toes, they don't hurt. But they are very pale and cracking. I wiggle them a bit to see them still moving, but it's only when I rub my feet across the concrete a bit do they hurt. A sharp piercing pain that quickly ebbs away. This entire thing, and by that I mean both chases, have been positively brutal on my feet.
"How badly?" Leo asks, his voice stern. "Are you still bleeding?"
"Um.. no, I don't think so. It's just my... feet... I think. I'm just... really tired... and it's cold..." I lay my head back down onto my knees and close my eyes. "They.. came back, Leo..."
"Don't worry, we're on our way. Donnie-"
"I got it!" Donnie says, sounding far away.
"We're coming now, don't move!" Leo orders, and then the sound of running.
"Well that's stupid," I hear Raph say. "Come on, Fearless, her feet are hurt and she's falling asleep, where the hell would she be going?"
"Home?" Mikey guesses. A pause, then, "What?"
"To the shellrazor!" Donnie says. "Hold on, Taylor!"
I open my eyes a little, but everything's blurry, I'm not even sure of what I'm looking at now. I reach out my free hand awkwardly, only feeling air. I pull my hand to the safety and warmth of my stomach and close my eyes again. "...to what?"
"Your booty, because you're about to get shellshocked!" Mikey cheers. Then a chorus of his name.
"...okay..." I murmur, feeling myself not slip, but fall into the blackness. Even with my eyelids connected, they still feel heavy, like they should be closing a bit more than they already are. But then my entire body relaxes and the blackness swallows me.
I pull from the darkness just a bit, what feels like moments later, to someone touching me. It goes from my exposed cheek down to my neck and presses for a moment before pulling away. There's noises. Talking, I think, but I can't pull myself out any farther and instead slip back into slumber. A second later, I pull back out again to feel someone pulling me into their arms. I feel like I should be flattered, or maybe bashful, but instead, I feel relief. I think the ground was really hurting my back and neck. Everything's stiff.
"...-ve her to me, Leo, you got to drive," Mikey says and his voice sounds far away. It's like my head is under water, their voices sound distant and muffled to me. I try and open my eyes but they don't obey.
"Mikey's right...tter driver than the rest..." That sounds kind of like Donnie.
My lips part, "Cold.." escapes me. I'm not sure they heard me. I'm not even sure I actually spoke. I hadn't thought it before, which is a surprise, but the thought comes to me now: am I dying? If I am, how would I know? I don't think I bled enough for that to be an issue, but maybe exposure... or the wound, wherever and whatever it may be, could get infected? I don't really know. Why am I just now thinking about it? I must be really out of it.
I'm shaken a bit, and moving. Someone is carrying me and they're moving. A pause, movement, then shifting before I'm lowered onto something warm. I'm still sitting up, but now there is something warm under me. The whole right side of my body is pressed against something warm, even my right cheek and forehead. Whatever it is moves rhythmically. Against me, two second pause, then away, against me, two second pause, then away. Over and over again. It's gentle and lulling. I can feel myself slipping away again.
Someone is touching my feet, I note. I think I feel a bit of pain, but I don't know. A moment later, I do feel pain, in the back of my leg, where that thing is dug in. I clench my teeth tightly, gripping onto the pain and letting it pull me to consciousness a bit. I manage to open my eyes a sliver to see Donnie knelt down by my feet, a box next to him. He's looking up at me with large, dark eyes. His mouth is moving.
"Sorry," is all I can make out. He looks back down, twisting my leg slightly, placing a small flashlight back into his mouth, shining it down on my leg. It's dark, wherever we are. And I think we're moving. A vehicle? I could almost laugh. A turtle, driving? I can't even drive. Ain't that something?
Whatever I'm leaning against rumbles. I can't move much, but I can see the thing touching my forehead is moving. Chin. That's a chin. A green chin. A turtle talking. I can't make out what he's saying. My eyes are too heavy. They close again and to the blackness, I return.
Another second later, I open my eyes to myself being lowered onto something soft and warm. Very, very gently. I manage to clear my vision enough to see Leo. There are creases between his eyes where I'm sure if he had any, his eyebrows pulling together would create that. Wait, Leo doesn't have eyebrows. Neither do his brothers. Oh dear lord, they're bald too. I wonder if they feel bad about not having hair.
In my vision, I can see my hand, slowly and shakily move toward Leo's face. His hard concentrated look morphs into one of surprise, yet he doesn't put any distance between us as I place my hand onto his jawline, lightly touching his smooth skin. He's warm. I think my hand is really cold. If it shocked him with how cold it was, he did a great job hiding it. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. He's staring down at me with intense light blue eyes. He looks very unhappy. Could it be me? Is he mad at me?
"I'm sorry, Leo," I whisper. "I'm so sorry..." I say it softly. I hope that he can hear me, or at least is better at reading lips than I am. My eyes slip closed and my hand hits my chest a second later, making me jump a bit before I'm in the darkness again. But this time, I dream.