I groan, clutching my side as it twitches; blood dyes my white tee shirt crimson as I cover my injury with the tatters of my coat. The hand supporting me against the wall shakes as I bite my lip, people hastening around me to get out of the inclement weather.

Rain soaks my clothes, slightly relieving the heat coming from my sore body, and successfully washing away the blood at my shoes. I look down at them, their pristine, black finish not so pristine anymore as I discover my socks sodden from the holes in them.

I force my feet onwards, despite the uncomfortable sensation of having a puddle in my shoes and screaming of my muscles. A feeling of nausea returns to my stomach, causing my throat to close up a little as I swallow dryly. Even if I want to empty my stomach, I can't for the simple fact that there's nothing in it. And despite all this-the recurring nausea, the blistering pain, tattered clothes-the desire to get back to my hotel trumps the pain.

While I coerce myself into treading further, the wayward town files around me, it's ubiquitous investigators and dark cloaked gunslingers passing by with a sidewards glance.

Lifting my hood up with shaky hands, I release my next breath in a ragged gasp, townsfolk veering sideways to avoid me. Their eyes etch into my back, burning holes into my conscious and boring an itchy feeling beneath the surface of my skin.

I flinch at the sudden trill of a bell, the kind you hear when you enter a convenience store; such an ordinary noise-usually gone unnoticed-rings in my ears sharply.

My sensitive hearing starts to tune in to other small perceptions shortly after the ringing subsides. The rain, the slamming of a door, a person dropping their umbrella-all of these sounds are perceived with twice the intensity until it all comes to a screeching halt in the following instance.

I reel from the loss of my acute awarenesses, feeling next my canines-slightly elongated-fluctuate to their normal size. The tips of my ears also become less pointy, my usually sharp senses going to waste with exhaustion. It's not that they've been shot out completely, rather, it's back to an average state.

I can't hear a mile ahead of me, nor smell a restaurant from the next block over-which is just my luck because those senses were the only things helping to get me to my hotel safely.

My head spins as I try anyway to scout further ahead of me, grinding my teeth angrily.

It works for all of two seconds before a pierce of agony strikes my head, like a hot iron pressed through each ear.

I stop walking, clutching my damp hair until the pain subsides.

A string of curses cause me to look up again, a man in soaked clothing and a dark hoodie spotting my eye. His gaze is a weird blood orange color, glaring like two flaming torches as they go around me, alit in the dark avenue. Only then do I realize I've stopped right in the middle of the road, vacant of cars, and brimming with people.

"Sorry," I make out, even though the man has long gone and my legs, despite my trying, have yet started moving again.

Another curse, and another, until I feel shoulders brush into mine, no longer trying to avoid me now that it's clear I'm not planning on moving.

Eventually flung forward from the shoves, my knees start to tremble harder from the effort of catching myself.

Regaining my balance after the fifth push from behind, I start in the opposite direction of the busy crowd.

When I'm almost to the wide walkways, another push hurtles me unexpectedly to the side, enough force to it this time that it hurts. Moreover, I can't catch myself before my legs give out, and when they do, the breath in my lungs suck violently out of me as I crash against a hard surface.

"Shit," Someone mutters.

I heave in deep pants of air, tensing for a fall that never came. Quickly, I realize it's a man I've bumped into, and upon looking up, it's a good looking one at that.

Rich hazel eyes, sharp jawline and steely arms that keep me adrift from face planting into the concrete.

He glances at the blood on my shirt as I try and fail to stand on my own, the man's grip never lessening on my forearms.

A blank expression outlines his face save the nitch in his eyebrow, taking in my bloodied side as it drips onto my clothes again.

"Why have you not healed yourself?" He finally asks, voice deep and riveting. The tone to it echoes that he'd like nothing more than for me to brush myself off and leave.

His voice strikes me as familiar, but I'm unable to place it as my conscious runs blank from the pain.

His dark cloak snaps against my thigh from the wind, the black and white uniform hiding underneath his jacket leading one to think he's just exited from a restaurant.

Silky black gloves tighten on me as I don't reply to him, the man's blonde hair fanning around a faded, yellow baseball cap.

I clench my jaw as a throb runs through my middle, my wound evidently inflamed after the fall. Baring my teeth from such a scorching ache, my knees buckle again, and my captor lifts me up for the second time, my weight apparently having no effect on him.

"If you're not going to answer, I'm leaving you here to bleed," He states.

A quiet groan releases from my mouth as my head brushes the man's chest, the weight of it feeling ten times heavier than before.

Suddenly the grip loosen around my forearms, and in my alarm I snap my face up again and swallow the pain.

"W-wait, don't leave me here," I beg, knowing full well I'll hate myself for this later, "please, please don't leave me here."

The man allows a pause of hesitation while I struggle to remain conscious, the corners of my vision, to my alarm, seeping black. Blinking it away, I force my mouth to open one last time, knowing at this exact moment that there's no way I'm going to make it back to that hotel.

"Help me."