The Test 8

My eyes opened to the world around me once again. The process of it doing so was blurry. The details of what I saw only revealed themselves after my eyes adjusted. I felt myself breathing. I was dizzy, my head spinning like a tornado, back and forth, back and forth. I came to realize I was propped up on a chair. I felt the wooden edges of the chair, examining it. I wasn’t familiar with it. Where was I? 

My vision cleared, and I inspected everything once more. My eyes dashed over a thick bandage that wrapped around my back. I tried to stand, but a sharp pain stabbed me. I was attacked, I remembered, running my fingers across the nicely done bandaging, I was attacked. My mind came to wonder where I was, who had done this for me. I was sitting in a house, a very, very small one. Its features included nothing more but an old, dull table and chair next to a kitchen with a slightly dripping faucet, and a bed off to the side. 

The sound of the water droplets slapping the bottom of the sink echoed throughout the house.

“You’re awake.” A deep voice said. I took a while, to notice a young man about my age had just come in the room.

“How did I get here?” I demanded, struggling to speak loudly. My injury stung with every word I forced out. The boy’s expression stayed serious. 

I took a while, examining him. His black hair was unkempt. He had sharp misty gray eyes. He wore a khaki high collar jacket over a black shirt. A sword was clipped to his belt. 

“So, you don’t remember being attacked?” He asked, one eyebrow slightly tilting.

“I remember everything. Except you.”

“Well, all I did was help you.”  

I touched my bandage, carefully, so I didn’t hurt myself. The blood from the injury was wiped away, but there were still red stains on the fabric of the bandage. 

“Well, thank you then. Thank you very much, but I’ll be heading out.” I tried to stand up, but a terrible pain erupted at my injury. I clutched it and sat back down on the chair, wincing. 

“You can’t even stand up. I suggest you reconsider. I’m sorry if I’m a bother, but you can try and leave if you like. It’ll take a while to heal, just adding in.” The guy said, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Who are you?” I grimaced slightly, “and why did you help me if you didn’t even know me?”

“Because not everyone in this world is heartless enough to not try and help someone as severely injured as you were.” 

I leaned back in my chair. “Who are you then?” I asked again.

“That I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer for a while.

“I just don’t trust people that often. Even for my name.” His tone of voice was speckled with seriousness, but had no clue of anger in it.

“Well, I can’t just stay here. I have to go somewhere.” I reminded him.

But he was gone. My ears heard the door click to a close, and the soft sound of footsteps as he walked away.

What am I doing? Now this weird guy decides to help me-for all reasons I should be thankful, but there’s something about that I’m itching to know more about. Checking if my bandage was secure, I leaned back in my chair.

What’s happening to me?

Where in the world am I?

I don’t have an answer to any of these questions.