Heavy pants escaped Luther's lips, as he struggled to get out of the bed he was laid out on. His teary gaze locked on the waxed floor of what looked to be a private hospital room.
Hospital? He couldn't afford to sit around and get caught!
He planted his feet on the cold tiles, the scent of detergent made him scowl. Reaching for a wall, he tried to stand, but a stabbing sensation from his lower region made him groan.
"Fuck! It hurts!" He placed a palm over his stomach, he pressed his fingers against what should've been an open stab wound, at the layers on bandages wrapped around him.
Who had helped him? No one knew where he was going that night. And where even was he, taking a closer look the hospital's ceiling was damp and looked ready to collapse. The paint on the walls faded and the overall dilapidated look of the interior made him suspicious.
Was this an actual hospital?
