After leaving those pearls of wisdom, Crazy vanished from the kitchen, once again leaving to my own thoughts. However, instead of being lost in what was, I concentrated on making sure that my plan would succeed. I didn't have complete faith in myself that I wouldn't, sohow, fuck it up. But instead of worrying about it, I forced my brain to move past it.
In my second life, when I first transmigrated into this world, my body had been… damaged, to say the least. My left shoulder was dislocated, my right ankle was broken, and my left knee was the size of a football. And those were only the injuries I knew I had for sure.
Every breath that I took hurt. Every ti I so much as twitched, it sent wave after wave of excruciating pain through my system, causing to black out. And yet, I had no idea what had been done to . There were no mories to draw on, no idea of who I was and how I got there.
But one thing was for sure: whoever had this body before died as a result of those wounds.
I found myself along the side of a road, the bottom half of my body sloping down toward the ditch while the upper half was clinging to the road with bloody fingernails. It was almost like I had been tossed out of a car and left to die.
I didn't know how long I lay there, hoping for so gold finger. I would have killed for the ability to heal or to be so kick-ass assassin who knew how to patch myself up. Instead, I was a social worker, and the extent of my dical training was a few videos on how to do CPR and how to call 911.
Yeah, I was really not ready for this world.
But then I heard the sound of a car driving down the street. I didn't know if I should stand up and wave or try to slide back into the ditch more so that I could just disappear. And since it hurt to breathe, that first option was not going to happen.
I used my hands to push my body back, trying not to scream as the excruciating pain flooded my system. But when I heard the car stop, I knew that it was too late.
Looking up, I saw one of the most beautiful n I had ever seen in my life. His black hair was perfectly done, his hands were soft and pale, and his nails were perfectly cut and filed. Even his three-piece business suit didn't have a speck of dirt on it.
How naive I was, thinking that this man was there to save . After all, in all transmigration novels, it was always the first man you et who was going to end up your male lead. And that was what I thought, too. I thought that he was so CEO who was going to pick up off the street, take to the hospital, feed , buy clothes, the whole fairy tale.
Then again, I guess that is why they call it a fairy tale. Sothing like that would never exist in real life.
"You poor girl," he cooed, crouching down. "It looks like you have taken a nasty beating. And yet, you are still alive." He reached out and gently brushed a piece of tangled hair from my face and tucked it as best he could behind my ear.
"It really is hard to survive in this world, isn't it? Especially with everything that has happened in the last three years. But don't you worry about a thing, okay? I have you now. Everything is going to be okay. I will take care of you." He gently picked up my battered body, trying his best not to cause even more pain, and brought to his car. It was a shock to see that it was one of those much older models.
I had thought for sure that, given his style, he would have one of those electric cars, but then again, who was I to judge? He was kind and was looking after . It really didn't matter what car he drove at the end of the day. That was just thinking materialistically.
The tir on the microwave started to beep, startling out of my thoughts.
Getting up from the table, I walked over to the oven, put on so oven mitts, and took the two pans out. Placing them on top of the stove, I went to sit back down and waited for them to cool down. If I left my space now, ti would be suspended, and I would never get them cool enough to frost.
To this day, I could still sll the cologne coming from that man. There was no way I knew how to describe it other than to say it slled like sandalwood and seduction. But it was one of those things that I could never forget. No matter how many lifetis have passed.
I would later learn that he made his money as a recruiter. That was why he could afford to take showers, wear expensive suits, and drive around in a car when no one else had one. The Reavers paid him to find bodies… man, woman, human, zombie… it didn't matter. As long as they could take a beating or deliver one, they wanted it for their pit.
I am sure that if I wasn't involved, I could actually appreciate what the Reavers managed to do. They recreated the Roman Colosseum and combined it with a circus. They always moved around, never spending more than two nights in the sa location. And everyone who had money or sothing to give was more than welco to bet on the fighter they liked best…
Or bet on how long a 5'2" woman would last against a zombie.
At first, I thought we moved so much because the Reavers were scared that they would get caught. That the governnt would co and shut them down. But that wasn't the case at all. They moved so much so that none of us fighters would ever actually plan their escape.
What was the point of leaving if you didn't know where safety was?
I still rember the first ti I had ever seen a zombie was in the pits. Hell, it didn't even register that we were in the middle of an apocalypse until that very mont.
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