You Distract Me - S01 E35

5 months ago

You Distract Me - S01 E35

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 35

Pain

Olivia

Pain.

The pain was everywhere. The smoke in my lungs, in my eyes. The burns on my back; my bare feet as well. The singed hair on my head. I couldn't possibly imagine how I looked if I felt that bad.

Byron's uncomfortably muscular arms were holding me to his chest. I couldn't see or understand what was going on around me, but according to the alarming pace of his heartbeat, he was either overly excited or dead scared.

Well, we had almost been blown up to pieces, so it would make sense to have extra adrenaline pumping through our blood. I tried to speak but ended up in a fit of coughs.

"Don't speak, miss, try to save as much energy as possible."

"Remind," I hacked away between words, "me again why you won't let me go to a hospital. I can't handle this pain... please."

"Just a little bit more."

"Why?"

"Don't worry about it."

As my mind tried to think of a reason for not being allowed to receive any medical attention, it also tried to make sense of what had happened not too long ago.

We had left the gym. Byron had driven us back safely to the apartment. And I had just stepped out the shower when the ground suddenly gave a mighty shake.

Without thinking twice, I'd ran out my room with a miniscule towel wrapped around my body. Byron had immediately covered me with his own jacket, and with only the pull of his hand as guidance, we'd started to make our way through the building.

There had been thick black smoke, hot and vengeful flames, and so much noise, I could hardly make sense of my surroundings. As though my burning throat and the scorching floor hadn't been enough, a red hot ceiling beam gave out. We hardly had any time to dodge it before it wacked me on the back. Instant blackout.

Which brought me to waking up in excruciating pain, silence, and a cool breeze I would have appreciated under different circumstances.

If only I could open my eyes. "Just out of curiosity, have my eyes melted away?"

He let out a strained chuckle. "You're good," he said, right before he winced and shifted around me.

It then hit me that I had been completely selfish about my own pain that I hadn't had the decency to ask Byron if he was okay. He could have simply left me to die, and yet he'd risked his life by dragging me along even though he was merely hired to watch over a total stranger.

I slowly opened my eyes and was relieved to find that I still had my sight, albeit a painful and blurry one.

But as soon as my eyes adjusted, I hoped I hadn't opened them. We were huddled in Byron's truck, which was parked in a quiet street that I realized was not too far from our apartment. The night was pitch black.

My heart ached as I took in Byron's burns.

It seemed most of the left side of his body and face had also faced the wrath of the hateful ceiling beam. All of his curly ginger hair was gone. His pain must have been at least five times my own. I looked away in shame.

"Don't worry about me, miss, I can handle some pain. My main concern is you."

"Then why didn't you take us both to a hospital?"

"It's no longer safe for you anywhere at the moment. Besides I had to follow a direct order."

I bit down on another wave of blinding pain, digesting his words. "Are you saying that what happened has something to do with me? And what do you mean 'a direct order'? A direct order from who?"

STORY CONTINUES BELOW

I turned back to him and immediately knew he wasn't going to answer any questions. And as if luck sided with him, several sudden beams of headlights appeared around a corner and were heading straight for us. Fast.

For a moment, I panicked but then a powerful grip of relief caught me when I saw that familiar Jeep. I was so happy that tears of joy ran down my cheeks. I made a move to wipe them away but miserable pain ricocheted from my back and down to my arms, so I let the tears flow.

The vehicles stopped around us, and I eagerly watched as Shayne slammed shut her car door and practically sprinted towards us.

Without preamble, she yanked open the passenger door and those absolutely gorgeous eyes met mine. Anger, fear, relief, shock and so many other feelings I couldn't identify were shifting all over her features.

"I told you to take care of her," she bit out, looking at nothing but me, all of me.

"I'm sor—"

Byron didn't get to finish as Shayne slammed the door and went around the front. She came to the drivers' side, where we were huddled, and swang the door open.

Carefully, overly carefully, Shayne collected me from Byron's arms. Although I wasn't too happy with the way Byron was being treated, the feeling of being in that strong and perfectly fit hold gave me such bliss, the pain actually went down a notch, at least in my mind.

"Next time I hand you something valuable, cut my left hand off, will ya, Byron? You had one simple task."

Shayne still hadn't given Byron one look, and her insensitivity was starting to get to me. "It wasn't his fault. We hardly had any time to—"

"It won't happen again," Byron said, interrupting me. He gave me a look that told me to shut the hell up. It was starting to dawn on me where the direct order had come from. But unless the employees at Byron's work place were trained to be fiercely loyal and fearful of their customers, his behavior towards Shayne raised a lot of questions.

As Shayne carried me away from the truck, I took in the vehicles and the people surrounding us. They were at least a dozen cars, with two or three people in each. Most stepped out, looking alert and mysteriously having a ready hand either behind them or inside their jackets.

The curious looks I received reminded me that I hadn't exactly left the burning building in decent attire. But when I looked down at my body, Byron's suit jacket covered me completely, except for my head and legs.

Oh Byron.

Instead of walking towards the Jeep as I'd expected, Shayne headed for a matte black minivan, large enough to be an ambulance. And to my shock, when the back doors swang open, the inside looked every bit of your average clinic on wheels. Except, the two paramedics—both female—inside looked like they belonged in an underground fist fight, with tattoos and toned muscles lining their bodies.

"How bad is it?" the pink haired of the two asked Shayne.

"Extremely bad."

"What about Byron? Does he need any—"

"She should be your first priority at the moment, do you understand me?" Shayne sneered.

I'd heard her speak authoritatively before, but the way she sounded right then placed so much fear in me that I wanted to be anywhere but near her.

"Of course," the two paramedics said.

They lowered the gurney to the ground and Shayne gently placed me on it. For the briefest of moments, our eyes met. Mine were asking for answers, and hers had a thick invisible wall blocking me from reading whatever was on her mind. Her face was shockingly blank and dark, almost diabolical.

A few minutes later, the 'ambulance' was moving and it was just me and the two women.

"From a scale of one to ten, rate your pain, sweety."

"Eight point nine billion," I rasped, feeling as though my throat had razors slashing through it.

They both laughed.

The woman with a snow white pixie haircut reached for a syringe. "That sounds painful, but don't worry. We probably don't look like much, but I assure you that you're in safe hands. I'll administer an anesthetic for the pain, and you won't feel a thing real soon," she said, her heavy Scottish accent making me smile even through the pain.

I hardly felt the needle penetrating my skin, but I instantly felt the loss of pain that had been coursing through my body. A moment later, they placed a breathing mask over my nose and mouth.

"You'll start to fall asleep any second now. We'll see you on the other side."

I managed to carefully pull off the mask, my eyelids already getting heavy. "Wait, may I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"From a scale of one to ten, how dangerous is Shayne West?"

They gave each other a look before Pixie Cut smiled down at me. "You're special to her, you don't need to worry about that."

"So it's a ten."

My eyes were completely closed now and if the women responded, I probably did not hear them.

However, just before I completely got knocked out, I heard one of them say, "Poor child, some worlds are just not meant for everyone."

Their words had simply confirmed my suspicions. Shayne West had an utterly different and private life that was unknown to the rest of the world. After all, I had seen the glock of the silver Beretta tucked in the back of her pants.

Who really was Shayne West?