What's up buttercup?

This is unedited XD

• • •

Do you ever wake up in a strange room with the taste of vodka in your mouth, feeling the same way you suspect a bear would feel after finally emerging from hibernation?

I frown for a moment as I try to figure out why the hell I am in a bed. When was the last time I slept in a bed?

Scratch that, when was the last time I actually slept?

I blink several times, staring at the ceiling. It is a shade of ugly that I can only describe as lilac. The word itself sounds so pretty that I can practically hear it mocking me. If lilac was a person it would be uptight and pompous, with its snooty nose stuck in the air. The furniture is simple and white, all except for a chair in the corner, which is occupied.

I struggle to sit up, gasping when pain jolts me. I lift up my shirt, which isn't mine at all, and my fingers graze a crisp white bandage. I slowly pull down the shirt, the events of the night before coming back to me.

I glance at the occupant of the chair. "How long have you been sitting there?" I ask wearily.

"Fifteen hours and twelve minutes," he states without blinking, or moving.

I sideways glance at him. He's an odd character, with not a lot of personality as of yet. Maybe he just isn't an open person, although, he must have a heart buried somewhere under that sullen exterior because he did spare my life, and stitch me up. The only emotion I have seen him show is his sarcastic side.

Is sarcasm even an emotion?

"Have you been watching me sleep?" I ask skeptically.

"No," he replies shortly, not bothering to make eye contact. It's that small detail that makes me wonder if he's lying. Somehow, it doesn't really bother me. I know it should, but this whole thing that has been happening has made me more aware of myself, my surroundings, and other people. I would say that I was a pretty good judge of character before, but now I can usually tell if people have bad intentions. Their body language is different, and they have a vacant look in their eyes, if they have eyes. But this guy doesn't come across as a threat.

"So what are you doing in here?" I question, yanking at the hair tie that is caked into my hair with mud and small twigs. I probably look very uncivilised, but that's okay. I was never known for my impeccable appearance in my past life either.

"Making sure no one killed you in your sleep," he answers in a tone that suggests he's telling the truth.

"I thought you said the door had a lock."

He shoots me a look. "You think Stan the scumbag can't pick a lock?"

I shrug. "I could kick his ass."

He glances at me doubtfully.

"You're judging me," I say, narrowing my eyes at him accusingly.

"Yes I am," he replies, not even denying my claim. "It's a hobby of mine."

I blink several times, not being able to tell whether he is being serious, or just has a really dry sense of humour.

I disregard the thought, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I make a face as I see my legs, it's disgusting honestly. Luckily I have blonde hair, so naturally my leg hair is also blonde, otherwise I would probably resemble a gorilla. The fact that I haven't shaved in months doesn't seem to bother Noah, in fact he doesn't seem to have an opinion on the matter at all. Funny that.

I stand up, my now bare feet connecting with the varnished hardwood floor. I feel a pressure in my abdomen as I stretch my arms above my head.

Noah shoots out of his seat, swiftly pulling down my arms and leaving them to hang at my sides. I give him a 'what the hell' look.

"Take it easy, you'll rip out your stitches," he says, explaining his actions.

"You couldn't have just told me to put my arms down?"

"Would you have listened to me?" He asks, contradicting me.

I shrug. Point taken.

"Since when did you care anyway?" I ask him. He doesn't seem like the 'happy sunshine and rainbows' type, he seems more like the 'I don't give a fuck about you, your family, or the dog who ate your cat, who ate your goldfish' type.

He gives me a flat look. "I don't care, I just don't want to have to stitch you up again."

I roll my eyes. Of course. "Right, because that would be a real inconvenience for you, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly, I'm glad we're on the same page."

He walks out of the room, leaving me standing there. I watch him leave, and then realise that I should probably follow because I have no idea where I'm going. By the time I reach the door, he completely vanished, leaving me alone in a house with a pervert, an angry girl, and a bunch of violent people.

"This is great, just great," I mutter to myself as I wander down a staircase that I found. I figure that I didn't walk upstairs when I first got here, so the living room and kitchen are probably downstairs. My suspicions are confirmed when I locate the kitchen, it's taken me a while to find my way downstairs because of how slow I'm walking. I mean, I really don't want to rip out my stitches, and they do pinch as I move, so it's probably not wise be reckless because I'll end up doing more harm than good.

I pause for a moment to listen. I can vaguely hear chattering coming from a closed door that is attached to the area where I was interrogated last night. The chair is still there, along with the rope, and a puddle of blood which is undoubtedly stained into the floor by now. To anybody who was unaware of the situation, they would probably assume the worst.

I shuffle to the door, pressing my ear against it, just to be sure that the sound is coming from the room beyond the door. My hand clasps the handle, and I give the door a gentle push. It swings on its hinges, revealing a living room, which matching the rest of the house, is dressed with mostly black and white furnishings, the hardwood floor continuing seamlessly into the area. The room also contains six people, five of which turn their eyes to me.

"Sweetheart," Stan addresses me. "Nice of you to join us." He smiles, showing his yellowing teeth.

When I don't reply he continues. "Did you dream about me sweetheart?"

An incredulous snort slips past my lips. "Oh yeah, I did dream about you Stan, it was the best dream I've ever had."

His sleazy grin grows. "I bet it was. Tell me about it."

"You died." I say shortly. I honestly don't know what kind of a response he was expecting from me, clearly not that.

Mae stifles a giggle with the sleeve of her hoody, which is clearly too big for her. She sits by herself on a black couch with a book in her hand, a book that could well be larger than her head. Garrett, the older of the two brothers, that I have nicknamed 'Tank', doesn't look amused or unamused by the exchange. In fact, I think he may even have less personality than Noah. The younger brother, Patrick, seems to understand my sense if humour because a smirk, even if it was only brief, crosses his lips. Cassidy, on the other hand, seems utterly disgusted by attempt to put the sleazebag in his place. I'm not sure why.

Stan, in attempt to inflate his ego, decides that it's a good idea to keep talking. When will people learn to just stop talking?

"How are those stitches sweetheart? I heard that you couldn't handle a little needle and passed out."

Oh, I passed out. That's why I don't remember walking upstairs.

I'm about to open my mouth to defend myself when Noah buts in.

"Well then I'll just cut open your stomach and sew it up with dental floss and no pain medication. Would you like that?" Noah asks, staring at Stan, who doesn't even have the balls to look him in the eye. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he demands, Stan's head slowly lifting until his eyes make contact with Noah's. "Would you like me to sew you up?" Stan shakes his head slowly, sending a side glance to me as if to blame me for the situation he's in. I just smile in return. "Good," Noah continues, "Then keep your mouth shut."

None of them, including Stan, seem overly surprised by Noah's outburst, leading me to believe that it might be a regular thing. Either that, or he just really doesn't like Stan, which I don't think is an unreasonable assumption.

Noah stands up from his chair in the corner. Apparently he isn't a very sociable person and doesn't like sitting with the rest of the group. I never would have guessed.

He points to me, and then points to the chair that he just left. "Sit." I can tell by the tone of his voice that it's not an option, it's an order.

I do as he says, walking to the chair and clutching my bandaged wound as I ease myself onto the plush material. I wince, trying to find a comfortable sitting position. Once I am settled, I find that once again there are five sets of eyes on me, except this time it's Mae who isn't looking at me. She has her head buried in the giant book.

"What's your name?" Noah asks me, the rest of the group waiting patiently for me to answer.

"Sara-"

Noah cuts me off. "Your real name."

I roll my eyes, sighing. "Clover. I swear to the Holy Ghost that the name on my birth certificate is Clover."

"I believe you," he nods, but Cassidy lets out a belt of laughter, clearly something is funny. Did I miss the joke, or is she just insane?

"Your name is Clover?" She giggles, barely able to enunciate her words.

I don't find it particularly amusing. "Yes," I reply blankly.

"What's your sisters name?" she pauses to let loose another giggle. "Is it rainbow? Or maybe it's sunbeam?"

"My sister is dead. Her name was Meadow, and I don't think she deserves to be laughed at," I say impassively. Her laughter dies down, but she doesn't apologise for her blatant disrespect to my sister's memory.

Noah shoots Cassidy a look of disgust, before addressing me again. "Princess, you said that people did that to you. Why would they want to do that to you?" He asks, completely ignoring the fact that I just gave my name.

I rub my forehead. Just thinking about the situation in town makes my head hurt. "The people in town are...desperate," I start, choosing my words wisely.

"Explain," he urges.

"They ate through all the food in town within the first two months, so now they are literally eating anything that they can catch."

"They wanted to...they wanted to eat you?" he asks incredulously, having trouble getting the words out.

"Yup."

"How did you get away?" Patrick asks curiously, intrigued by the odd nature of the tale I'm telling.

"I ran," I answer simply. "Someone threw a knife as a last ditch effort to catch me. They were on target."

"How do we know that you didn't lead them here with a blood trail?" Noah questions me.

"I climbed a tree to hide. I couldn't keep running with this," I say, patting the area of my abdomen which, under my shirt, is largely covered by a bandage. "And the group that was chasing me wasn't exactly the brightest bunch. They could've killed me if they'd just looked up. I waited for the cover of the dark before I half climbed, half fell out of the tree and dragged myself here."

Noah looks quietly impressed by my actions. What did he expect me to do? Let the cannibals follow me here so they could eat everyone?

"No offence, but how did you run away?" Patrick inquires, looking at my legs, or lack of.

"Hey, short legs don't mean anything," I defend. "I used to run track." Even that word 'track' triggers some unpleasant memories from my life before this whole thing happened. My coach, and stepdad Viktor was the constant hell in my life. He never physically hurt me, unless making me run until the soles of my feet were bleeding counts, but he was constantly criticising or taunting me about something. My mom couldn't see it, she was blindly in love and oblivious to the way he truly was. I feared him, I feared what he would do to my little brother, Cyrus, if I didn't do what he said. I always thought his threats were empty, but I could never be sure.

"Clover?" I blink several times, exiting my daydream.

"What?" I ask.

"In town, is there anybody who isn't part of the main group?" Noah quizzes.

I nod. "A few, but they keep to themselves mostly. They don't appreciate attention being drawn to them, which is understandable. The majority of the people left are our age, and most of them are in the main group. Killers are more likely to go for someone on their own than a whole group of people. Safety in numbers I guess."

Noah ponders my answer. "How did you survive out there? You didn't..." He trails off, but I know what he wants to say.

"No, I didn't eat human flesh if that's what you're asking. I've been snaring rabbits for months now, but there aren't a lot left anymore, so I've been eating anything that I can catch, aside from people. Bugs, lizards, birds, even grass. You name it, I've probably tried to eat it."

"Your family, where are they?" Noah asks wearily. I'm sure he already knows the answer to that.

"They're dead."

• • •

Well hello, I didn't see you there. How was your day? Mine was awesome, thanks for asking.

How was this chapter? Was it confusing? I feel like it might have been confusing. Oh God, I hope it wasn't. I'm not changing it anyway, so lets just hope it makes sense.

Does anyone else get an eye twitch sometimes? It feels really weird. Hopefully someone else gets this and I'm not the only loser with a twitchy eye on Wattpad.

I might stop talking now.

Please comment, vote and follow.

Until next time.