Four

Four.

I drive for an hour before I pull into a hotel. The pain was now apart of whom I was, it was going numb and I needed to sort it out.
I go to the front desk.

‘Hi, can I have a room please?’ I say.

The man behind the desk nods, he wears a suit and has dark hair. His eyes are also dark, they’re nearly a navy colour. He probably isn’t a man, just a boy, his face is too young. 
He looks about eighteen, maybe older.

‘Name?’

‘Gwen’ I say, my next move better be smarter.

‘Last name?’

‘Farret’ he writes this down and hands me over a card.

‘You’re on floor four, room twenty-nine’ I take it and I thank the man, I hand over some money.

I turn but before I can go, the man speaks.

‘Your shoulder! It’s bleeding’ he exclaims.

‘Oh, damn. Forgot about that. It’s fine, just some lunatic thought I was stealing his car, but I wasn’t’ I reply.

‘At least let me get a doctor to check it out’ he says.

I shake my head.

‘I’m qualified to get a bullet out my own body, thank you’ I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh.

‘Sorry, that came out rude. I just want to get to my room and stop the pain’ I sigh.

The man nods.

‘It’s fine, I hope you get better’ he speaks.

I thank him once again and run to the lift that’s just about to close. I slip in and apologise to the people in it.
Floor four has already been pressed.
So I wait.
We stop at two, and one person gets out.
We stop at three, and no one gets out.
We stop at four, five people and I get out.
I run to room twenty-nine, bumping into people now and again. I throw them a sorry and carry on running.
I stop at my door 
Slip the card into the handle and push it open.
The room looks like the one in motel, a small room with a bed, a bathroom and a set of drawers, above a mirror.
I sling my bag onto the drawers and sit on the bed.
I pull off my shirt and look at my shoulder in the mirror.
There is a hole in my skin where the bullet went through, it’s swollen and blood is spilling out the wound quickly.
I look at myself.
My dirty, ash blonde hair and blue eyes are the same, yet now I am not the girl I was seven years ago.
When did my life become so troubled?
I wish I could cry, but I can’t. 
I used all my tears on my mother.
I pull my fringe out my eyes with my good arm.
My face looks paler, I look closer. My eyes have turned dark and cold.
What’s happening to me?
The phone goes and I shoot round, I ignore it and sort out my shoulder.
I go to the bathroom and find a pair of tweezers. I wash them thoroughly.
I know this will hurt but I need to do it.
I got back to the mirror, and stand side ways. My bad arm facing the mirror.
I put the tweezers into my bullet wound and bite my lip to stop from screaming.
I pull it out and put it onto the drawers. I open them and pull out a first aid pack.
I clean myself up and place some healing cream onto it and then a plaster over the top.
I walk back to the bed and pull my shirt back over my head, I pull it down and the phone rings.
I sigh and answer it.

‘Gwen, someone is here for you?’ the voice says at the end, it’s the man at the counter.

‘Who are they?’ I ask.

I hear muttering at the end of the phone.

‘He says his name is Harrison’

I frown.

‘What colour hair has he got?’ I ask.

‘Blond’ he replies.

‘Don’t send him up. His name isn’t Harrison,’ I hung up and grab my bag.

I put the bullet into my pocket. I run out the room and down the hallway.
I go up the stairs until I reach the sixth floor; I see a room with a green sign over the top.
It’s empty.
I get a clip out from my hair and kneel down.
I start picking at the lock.
It opens and I jump up, I get into the room and shut the door behind me, I put the clip back into my hair.
I lean against the door and sigh. I’ll leave in the morning, but I need rest.  My eyelids are dropping. I walk to the bed and lay down.
 I pull out my gun and put the safety lock back on, I keep it in my hand as I drift off.