Oops

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dxganronpa here's the thingy again it's a bazillion words long whoOps

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My eyes fluttered open, my heart hammering faster and faster as the ceiling I didn't recognize came into focus. Slowly, I began sitting up, my hands slowly curling fists as I looked around the very bare room. Where the hell am I? I jumped when I saw Frank, leaning against the opposite wall with a can of soup in his hand.

Oh, right.

He was studying his soup can, scraping around inside with a fork, so he didn't seem to notice I was awake. My chest was throbbing. Like, entirely. Pain was seeping into every part of my body, some spots more than others -- right leg and upper body, mainly. Three blankets had been tossed over me sometime during the night and frankly, it was quite cozy

I was about to toss the blankets off and stand up, when Frank interrupted me, "Don't."

"Look, I gotta go," I was in no position to try to explain the predicament he found me in last night. I had to get out and I had to get out now.

He set his soup can on the counter to his right and moved closer to my couch, sitting himself on the wooden coffe table opposite of me, "Look, you've been shot. I've been there before and it hurts like hell. Just rest up."

Him? Shot? By, like, a gun? He's too... what the heck?? It's too early for thinking... I sighed, still planning on leaving. Me being here for this long already painted a hefty target on the poor man's back, "I need to go."

"Go where?"

"Uhh... my house?" apparently my sarcasm was still intact, "I've got shit to do there."

"No. You ain't goin' anywhere."

"What'd'y'mean I ain't goin' anywhere?" I raised an eyebrow, "I've shit 't do at my house."

"So I've heard," he crossed his arms, "Still ain't movin' from that couch 'till you're well enough to move. What's so important you think you gotta do it right now, anyway?"

God, he's starting to sound like an overprotective parent, "Well," with great pain I sat up a little further, the blankets falling off my chest to bunch at my waist, "I have some dogs and fifteen cats to care for, half-dead plants to water, gotta make sure none of them fools that jumped me last night are lounging about drinkin' all my beer. Y'know, the works. We good? Can I leave now?" leave and never come back? Probably flee Hell's Kitchen forever?

I saw his angry resolve fall a little. But he still snorted, pushing himself to his feet, "No. Stay put."

"Stay-Stay put?" my voice was incredulous, "I will not stay put, I don't take orders from people, especially someone I just met!"

"Stay. Put," he annunciated it with so much authority it made me think twice about taking orders from him, "Or you'll probably end up hurtin' yourself even more."

He was by the door, now, grabbing his jacket off the counter by his soup can. I noticed there wasn't any blood on it, anymore. But his face was still cut and more bruises had formed, "I'm going to go."

At least his lip wasn't swollen up anymore, "Where?" let's see how he likes someone being nosey about his business.

"To your apartment," Frank had the door open, and was in the hall, now, "Stay put."

And the door was shut before I could argue back.

But as soon as the door clicked shut, I made myself move. I tossed the blankets over the back of the couch, immediately shuddering at the contrast of air. Apparently, Frankie had taken it upon himself to attack my outfit with a scissors and various ripping, too. The shirt I'd had on was cut right up the center, acting more like a vest than anything. At least he left my sports bra intact, though it was splattered with blood.

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