Mishka
Hopeless Wandering Soul
Quinn groaned loudly as he awoke, his hand flying up to his unruly, red hair to rest on his aching head. Man, he must've partied hard last night to wake up to a hangover as rampant as this one. It was odd though, as he could've sworn that he promised his girlfriend that he wouldn't drink or party anymore. Too risky, she said. She didn't want there to be any chances that he could cheat on her. Funny though, because he was cheating with her best friend. But hey, what she doesn't know won't hurt her. And there was no way in hell she'd find out about it.
Pulling his hand away from his hair, he was weirded out to discover that his fingers came away damp and sticky. For the first time this morning (afternoon? evening? night?), he forced his eyes open. The first thing he noticed was how damn bright the room was. Everything was white and illuminated, like he was in a hospital with no beds, tables, medicine, or doctors. The second thing he noticed was that his fingertips were covered in blood, which meant that his head was bleeding. What the hell happened last night? The final thing he noticed, and perhaps the most disturbing, was that there was a girl directly across from him with a delicate cheek sporting a nasty bruise.
Had he gotten into a fight with this strange girl? It didn't make much sense, especially seeing as how he'd never hit a girl. Perhaps he got to drunk to retain his morals. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples (effectively smearing his blood on his face), desperately trying to remember just what the hell had happened last night. Bits and pieces came back to him. A struggle, a dark van, and the face of a strange man. Had he really been kidnapped? What the hell was going on here?
Opening his eyes and climbing to his feet, he found his legs to be weak and unstable. He leaned heavily against the wall as he looked around, growing angrier by the second. What kind of person kidnapped a guy in his twenties? It wasn't like his presence would appease a pedophile or anything. It frustrated Quinn that he didn't know what was going on, and he punched the wall angrily before storming over to the other girl who was in the room with him. "Who are you!" he demanded, a frantic look in his eyes.
Pulling his hand away from his hair, he was weirded out to discover that his fingers came away damp and sticky. For the first time this morning (afternoon? evening? night?), he forced his eyes open. The first thing he noticed was how damn bright the room was. Everything was white and illuminated, like he was in a hospital with no beds, tables, medicine, or doctors. The second thing he noticed was that his fingertips were covered in blood, which meant that his head was bleeding. What the hell happened last night? The final thing he noticed, and perhaps the most disturbing, was that there was a girl directly across from him with a delicate cheek sporting a nasty bruise.
Had he gotten into a fight with this strange girl? It didn't make much sense, especially seeing as how he'd never hit a girl. Perhaps he got to drunk to retain his morals. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples (effectively smearing his blood on his face), desperately trying to remember just what the hell had happened last night. Bits and pieces came back to him. A struggle, a dark van, and the face of a strange man. Had he really been kidnapped? What the hell was going on here?
Opening his eyes and climbing to his feet, he found his legs to be weak and unstable. He leaned heavily against the wall as he looked around, growing angrier by the second. What kind of person kidnapped a guy in his twenties? It wasn't like his presence would appease a pedophile or anything. It frustrated Quinn that he didn't know what was going on, and he punched the wall angrily before storming over to the other girl who was in the room with him. "Who are you!" he demanded, a frantic look in his eyes.