Free Drawn by Lilliana Anderson Page A

people stand around cheering and shouting at whoever is in the centre of their makeshift circle.
    My curiosity draws me closer , and I peer over the shoulder of a young guy with dark curly hair, gasping when I see Damien in the middle, his shirt off, muscles glistening in the heat of the night, as he stands there, poised and alert. Four other guys are charging him, fierce expressions on their faces as they attack.
    I push forward, my intoxicated mind thinking that he needs help and that somehow, I am capable of giving it. The group seems to have coordinated their attack and split into two, grabbing at his arms on both sides.
    “Oh no!” I gasp, forcing my way to the front of the crowd. Damien pushes toward two of his assailants, dropping down so that he can spin under his arms, crossing them over so that all four men are now standing together. He pushes as they pull, and drops them in a pile on the asphalt ground.
    I freeze where I am, watching as they come at him over and over again. As one strikes out, Damien takes his arm and twists his body, flinging him into another attacker as he turns to deal with the two on his other side. It’s like a flurry of motion that leaves the four men groaning and clutching their limbs painfully.
    “Who’s next?” he yells, looking around the circle as one of the guys I saw him with earlier walks around collecting money. As his eyes land on me, his expression changes. “What are you doing out here?” he demands.
    “I…” I start, but I don’t get to finish as my dizziness twists in my stomach and erupts out of my mouth, spewing all the food and drink I’ve had onto the ground in front of me.
    “Shit .” I hear hissed around me, mingled with a few groans, as those close by jump clear of the spray.
    Leaning forward, it’s as if a faucet has been turned on , and I can’t stop until my stomach is painfully empty.
    “Finished now?” a soft voice asks. I look up, suddenly realising that Damien is holding me up and keeping my hair out of my face.
    “I think so,” I groan, trying to stand.
    He holds me against him to steady me as I struggle upright.
    “Can you walk?” he asks calmly.
    “I think so,” I attempt to say again, but it doesn’t sound like that. My mouth is struggling to speak , and my body doesn’t even want to move. I sag against him, my head dropping onto his shoulder. As I feel material instead of skin against my face, I wonder when he managed to put his shirt back on, and then I pass out.

Chapter 7
     
    “Oh god,” I moan, as I attempt to sit up. My head feels like it’s attempting to leave my brain behind on the pillow. Clutching at my forehead, I force myself upright, swinging my feet over the side of the bed, my soles coming into contact with…carpet? I wriggle my toes – my floor doesn’t have carpet.
    Slowly, I open my eyes and look around. It takes a moment for my vision to clear, but in front of me is a tall chest of drawers, finished in a high gloss black lacquer, their handles hidden underneath a curved exterior , edged in white laminate.
    The bedside tables are exactly the same, and besides a bedside lamp, no surface holds anything on top, it’s all perfectly clear. And except for where I’ve been laying, the king-sized bed is perfectly made too, with a white bedspread and a charcoal throw blanket at its base.
    Above the bed is a large canvas painting, it’s all grey, with white circular shapes and flecks of black paint, you can actually see the texture of the paint on there.
    “How are you feeling?” a deep voice, softly asks.
    I turn around, wincing when my head punishes me for my movement, squinting through the pain as my eyes land on Damien, who is sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. It’s as if he’s been watching me sleep.
    He lifts the glass of water he has sitting on a small round table beside him and rises to walk over to me.
    “What am I doing here?” I croak, taking the glass of water as he holds it out to