The next time I regained consciousness it was silent once again, and I couldn't feel anyone near me. The pain in my head was now a dull, throbbing sensation, not nearly enough to bother me after the pain I had experienced earlier.

I managed to open my eyes quite easily this time, finding that wherever I was it was much darker than before. I could see everything quite clearly, and, upon a short inspection, I realized that I was lying on a couch in someone's living room.

The room itself wasn't much to talk about. The walls and floor were all bare, aside from a few posters and...road signs? There was a tiny TV placed on top of what looked like a broken vending machine lying on its side, and a traffic light pole next to the couch I was currently lying on. The only normal things in the room were a wardrobe in one corner, and a small table with two chairs, beside a door containing a very questionable neon sign.

It was quite clear that a man lived here. There were empty beer bottles on the table, and one of the doors of the wardrobe was open, revealing an array of leather jackets and boots. At the other side of the room there was a guitar case propped up against one of the walls, near a small area containing shelves full of weapons, with a dartboard attached to the wall in between. The weapons all looked like they had been used.

Whoever this person was, I definitely didn't want to mess with them.

Sitting up much more slowly this time, I noticed that the top half of my body was completely bare. It was a little disconcerting, considering the fact that I was sure I was wearing a shirt before I passed out, but what was more concerning was the fact that the inside of my mouth still tasted like blood.

Now, I'm not exactly a medical genius, but it's clear to me that vomiting blood isn't normal under any circumstances.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave here?

What would I do on my own?

I had nowhere to go.

Glancing around again briefly, I noticed that a blanket had been placed over the lower half of my body, and there was a seemingly untouched glass of water beside me on the table. If this person wanted to hurt me, then why would they be making sure I was comfortable like this?

I decided to drink the glass of water, thinking it better to get rid of the taste in my mouth than worry about who left it there, before nearly smashing it on the table as I put it back, upon hearing a noise coming from one of the other rooms.

My gaze quickly settled on the weapons in the corner, wondering how I could use them to defend myself if this mysterious person actually did want to harm me.

After a few minutes of sitting in complete silence, I decided that they probably weren't coming out. It seemed like the middle of the night, after all. They were probably asleep.

This was my only chance to get out of here.

I quickly shoved the blanket away from my legs, standing up slowly and a little shakily, but otherwise okay, nearly tripping over a bucket that had been placed next to me. Clearly whoever it was didn't want me to vomit on their floor again.

Looking down, I realized that my shoes had also been removed. It was a little cold, considering I hadn't been wearing socks, and the floor was bare stone, but once again this concern was overshadowed by the fact that I was still in someone's house, I didn't know them, and I probably had some kind of concussion.

Another noise from the room near the wardrobe, which I was guessing was a bedroom, brought me to my senses, and I decided to quickly get my act together, sneaking to the wardrobe and pulling out the first shirt I could find, slipping it on. I couldn't go outside like this, after all.

However, my plan came to an end as the door beside me opened, a tall, relatively handsome man with his hair in a ponytail coming out. I stopped in my tracks as he folded his arms, leaning against the door frame and watching me with an expression I couldn't read.

Not that I'd have been able to read any other expression.

I'm not good with people.

It seemed like an eternity as he continued to look at me, and I couldn't move, no matter what my mind was telling me. It wasn't the way he was looking at me. It wasn't the fact that I was obviously trying to sneak out and had just been caught. I knew this man.

This was the man who shot me.

"Are you cold?" he asked, breaking the silence, and I found myself taking my first breath in what felt like half an hour.

His question threw me off somewhat. Why would he ask me that, of all things? He tried to kill me, and I threw up on his floor, and I was clearly trying to steal one of his shirts. Surely 'what the Hell are you doing?' would have been a more appropriate opening line.

I shook my head, finding myself unable to speak to him.

It was a lie. I was freezing.

"Then do you want something to eat or drink?" he continued, unfazed by my silence, "You've been through a lot, so you need to build up your strength."

He walked past me to another door, opening it and going through into a small kitchen.

I had no idea what to do, so I stayed where I was, watching him in slight disbelief. The strange thing was; I wasn't angry at all with this man. He tried to kill me. I should have hated him. But I didn't.

Maybe it was the fact that he was being so nice to me. It was something I wasn't used to at all, especially from adults, and it had taken me by surprise.

I continued to stare at him as he returned from the kitchen, steering me back to the couch and sitting me down, pushing a glass of water into my hand.

"Here. You should keep drinking. You're probably dehydrated." he said somewhat casually, perching himself on the edge of the table in front of me.

I drank most of the glass of water with him watching me, feeling slightly unnerved, before he spoke again.

"So, what's your name?"

I tightened my hands around the glass, staying silent. There was something about people asking me questions that made me nervous.

"Not the talkative type, huh?" he chuckled, still watching me, brushing a few strands of dark blonde hair from his fringe behind his ear, "It's okay. You don't have to answer me. I get it."

I continued to stare at the floor, willing him to go back to his room and leave me alone. After a few minutes he seemed to take the hint, and got up, walking back over to the doorway of the room he came out of, stopping briefly.

"You can relax. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're safe here." he said, before going into the room and closing the door.

I didn't move at all as what felt like another hour passed by. I didn't know what to think anymore. Was this man helping me? Why?

What would make him want to help me?

I quietly placed the glass down on the table, hoping not to wake him again, before returning to lying on the sofa, pulling the blanket from the floor and over myself.

I still didn't trust this man, not at all, but something was telling me to stay here. Something was preventing me from leaving.

I had no other option.