I'm bleeding all over my shirt.
I'm trapped in a freaking trunk that smells like manure, of all things.
And oh yeah, the pain is like someone has a flame thrower blasting away at my shoulder.
I need to come up with a plan.
Kick out the tail light.
Ah, my father's wisdom finally comes to some use.
Who would have guessed?
I wonder what Dad's doing now. Does he know yet? Does Gus?
I sent my text but...
What I wouldn't give for someone to pop open this trunk and yell April Fools!
It could even be Lassie.
They'll be frantic, I know. Not so that they can't function, because they're all more determined than that. But I know how it feels to think that one of my friends is in danger. Like when Gus walked into the bank. Or when Juliet was held at knife point. Or when I knew Lassie could die at any moment in that cemetery.
I like it better this way.
I like being the one captured so that I don't have to worry. I only have to be afraid for myself.
My shoulder hurts so badly. Excruciating seems like an appropriate word choice here.
It's a slow, agonizing burn and I want to do something completely un-manly, like scream or cry.
I hate it. I hate this entire situation.
But I'd rather be in my position then in, let's say, Gus's.
Because in here, I can control my fear and I know exactly what's going on and what I can do and what I can't do.
Out there with the terror and the guilt and the helplessness?
That's just hell.
A/N: In conclusion, being shot sucks for everyone involved. :P Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated. :)