Your head made contact with the hard, carpeted floor. You groaned in pain, taking your head into your hand. Your fingers found their way to your forehead where it was hit, and you immediately retracted your hand. In the dab middle of your forehead, there was a bruise, and you could tell because it felt tender to the touch. Once peering down at your fingers did you notice a red blotch of liquid dripping down your hand. On instinct, your eyes widened and you started panicking. Was there really blood dripping from your head?!
You pressed your fingers to your forehead again, not caring if it hurt or not, and when you brought your hand back down to eye level, more of that red liquid drenched your fingertips. Your eyes widened even more, if it was physically possible, to the point where your eyes could've popped out of their sockets. You were bleeding, more than you thought. Then you felt a warm liquid sliding down the space between your nose and your eye, and it ran down to the corner of your mouth. There was more blood coming out of you than you thought.
You started to feel queasy, and you felt like you could throw up at any moment. The blood was so close to your nose that you could smell its irony scent. God, what am I going to do...? You thought as you could feel yourself growing lightheaded.
All of a sudden, you felt a cool fabric being pressed to the corner of your lip, and it was dabbed up towards your wound. Your now half-lidded eyes looked up at who could be cleaning the blood up. You caught a glimpse of blonde, silk-looking hair and a pair of sparkling blue eyes. You felt like you were in a dream, like you were in Heaven in a way. Could it be that you really were in Heaven?
"Let's get zhis all cleaned up," a voice draped in a thick French accent whispered to himself. Once the piece of fabric was removed from your head, you felt yourself being lifted up into someone's arms bridal style. "Matthew! I'm going to take 'er to zhe guest room down zhe 'all, okay?"
You heard no response, so you figured that the person he was speaking to nodded. You felt yourself being carried somewhere, and since you didn't have the strength to open your eyes, you couldn't tell which direction you were being taken to. For all you knew, you could be taken to that guest room for who knows what or you could be a target of a mafia boss who wanted to get rid of you. But who would want to get rid of a nerd why hasn't done anything bad in her life?
Your arms were pressed against the mystery man's chest for support, and you bounced slightly as he took light, graceful yet quick steps. You felt yourself being taken down a long corridor quickly and you knew this because you could feel a slight breeze cool your scalp. You tried speaking to ask your captor where he was heading, but in your attempt, your voice came out cracked and broken somehow. So you just kept quiet, and in the silence, you felt yourself growing tired for an unknown reason. Your eyes closed, and pressing your ear against the man's chest, you listened to his heartbeat, and you fell slowly into unconsciousness.
But before completely falling asleep, one question left you puzzled: Who was Matthew? His name didn't ring a bell...
She fell to sleep quietly, but that didn't prevent her captor from slowing down; as she fell asleep, his steps only grew quicker. He rushed down the hall before blood could start seeping from ____'s forehead again.
He knew this girl; he recognized her as one of his students. The fact that she was a student of his only made his steps grow faster.
He found the guest room in no time, since he knew his way around the mansion. Turning the doorknob with his elbow, ____'s captor/savior walked into the room identical-looking to Alfred's. He set her down in the middle of the bed and blanketed her sleeping figure in sheets. He let out a sigh and turned to leave the room to search for some bandages, cursing himself for accidentally ramming the door in his student's face.
Your eyes barely managed to open before you rubbed any sleep away and started blinking. Soft, satin-like fabric enveloped you, and you tossed and turned until you noticed you were in a bed. With your eyes finally wide open, you looked at your surroundings. You were lying down in a bed whose bed sheets and pillow covers were a dark, maroon colored fabric. The sound of a soft breeze could be heard and you noticed the window was open. You felt so calm as the smell of nature filled your nose. The entire room looked exactly like Alfred's, but you didn't seem to notice all that much; it seemed every room looked like that.
And then it hit you like a rock. You were still bleeding! Your hands shot up to your forehead, finding, instead of the familiar feeling of liquid, coarse bandages wrapped around your head. You calmed down slightly from your frantic episode and remembered that man saying something about carrying you to a guest room.
So this must be a guest room... You thought, sitting up. Doesn't look so different from Alfred's room...
At the sound of the door clicking open, you jumped up and turned your attention to whoever was coming in. Your eyes widened at the sight and as if confirming your earlier suspicions, it was your French teacher who walked in.
"Mr.Bonnefoy...," you breathed.
He nodded in your direction and walked over, bucket full of water and bandages in hand. He didn't say a word as he set the bucket down on the nearest nightstand and floating in it, as far as you could see, was a rag.
"I'm 'ere to change your bandages. If zhat's alright wizh you," he said with a slight smile and started wringing the rag.
You nodded and allowed him to do whatever, though you knew he was notorious for flirting with his female coworkers and students. But part of you said to keep on eye out for him and to keep your guard up, and you did so as you occasionally glanced at him from the corner of your eye. You witnessed him put the rag down, dry his hands, and reach over to you. He placed his hand onto the back of your head and found the end of the bandage, proceeding to unwrap it around your head.
Once the bandages were off, the cool breeze that come from the window hit the wound and bruise on your head. And the coolness only went on as your French teacher pressed the raag he wringed out earlier against your forehead, wiping away any dried and crusted blood. You hissed at the pressure he applied, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Noticing your pain, he stopped, but you motioned him to continue (Oh God, reread that sentence and realize how wrong that sounds xD). In a few minutes, your forehead was redressed with fresh bandages.
"Merci, Mr.Bonnefoy," you said with a smile, using the French you learned in his class.
"It wasn't a problem, ____," he returned your smile. "How are you feeling?"
You chuckled,"Not like I'm going to throw up and pass out."
"Zhat's good," he chuckled too, but his smile disappeared as soon as it came.
You cocked your head to the side slightly, wondering what caused the sudden change in mood. Then you heard stomping, and the sound was growing louder by the second. A few seconds later, it stopped, but suddenly, with a loud bang, the door to the guest room you were in burst open. Standing in the doorway was none other than the English teacher who assigned you to be Alfred's tutor....What was he doing in Alfred's home?