[Story] Delta – S01 E06

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 6

♥Astrid♥

Bright sunlight filtered through the hotel window, straight onto my closed eyelids. The windows were simple enough: no screens, pull-up from outside and in. I groaned as the over-bright light smacked my eyelids. This country was becoming more and more my enemy. The thought made me think, Was France ever our allies? My answer: yes, but if I ever became President, they sure as heck wouldn’t be.

Still, there’s nothing like a good flash on sunshine on your eyes to wake you up, although I really didn’t need it, and, plus, the chances of me becoming President were decidedly slim. So I rolled over with a groan, wondering why the bed felt so hard. I sat up, looking at the bedside clock. 10:30. In the morning? I jumped up in shock. I hadn’t slept so late since… well, I really don’t know.

Sitting up was torture. Standing was hell.

My torso felt like I had been in a boxing match with Rocky – and had lost. Badly. I pulled off the ruined tank top, looking at it with little regret. True, I had liked it, but still, my life meant so much more. The body armor beneath was what was making the bed so hard – and me so stiff. I pulled it over my head with a grunt, and then studied myself in the mirror.

I groaned at the very sight. From my neckline to the bottom of my breasts, I was fine. I looked normal. Below that, though…I also looked like I had been in that boxing match. Blue and black and green bruises dotted – no, splotched – themselves across my ribs and back. I tried to remember the events of last night. I had been shot… right?

I picked up the ruined shirt and saw the two bullet holes in the back. Yup, I’d been shot. I looked a mess – and felt even worse. But it didn’t do much good to stare at myself, so I turned away from the traitorous mirror. I spotted my bag on the floor where I had left it and heaved it onto the bed. Then I stripped out of the clothes I was wearing, leaving the body armor on. I really didn’t want to keep it on, but I thought I should, given the fact that I had been in France for a day and had already been shot at.

I pulled on a different pair of jean shorts, pulling the belt in place, and then tugged on a t-shirt over the armor underneath, wincing slightly as I moved my ribs. If I were a normal child, I would be in the hospital, my mother crying over me and wondering why she has such a reckless daughter. Then again, I was hardly normal.

I looked around. Where were my boots? If they had been stolen, there would be hell to pay from the boys. I couldn’t see them anywhere and was about to storm out there and ask where they were when I saw them peeking out from under my bed. Sighing in relief, I slipped them on, feeling to make sure my knife and gun were still there.

The knife was, the gun wasn’t. I assumed with a frown that I had lost it at Decrioux’s place. This added to the annoyances of my day as yet. Still, I was pretty sure one of the boys would have an extra gun… if not two or three extra. So I looked at myself in the mirror once more, running a brush through my tangled hair before giving up and putting it in a long ponytail, and walked out of the little room.