"I must have the worse luck in the world... "<br/><br/>Her words whispered along with the brushing of her carpet, her hands stroked back and forth trying everything in her power to get the stain of blood from it. What had been pure red was now a light pink smear over the strands of carpet fiber. It would take at least another hour to completely remove the stain without bleach, having a bleach spot in her floor was as bad as the blood. Her lips pressed together as she frowned over the events, her luck couldn't be any worse, she was going to have to make him leave as soon as he was healed.<br/><br/>Hear the call coming from her guest room, she dropped the brush back into the bucket at her side while she pushed up to her feet. Eyeing the gun on her counter now, she couldn't trust him he could be a gangster for all she knew or worse, after all what sort of person showed up bleeding on your doorstep with a gun and silencer? None of this made sense to her and she felt uncomfortable with him being here.<br/><br/>Taking the gloves from her hands she traded them for the gun. Stiffly holding as she walked down the hall to her guest room. She appeared in the doorframe and took the gun in a unsteady two hand grip. It was clear that she had never used a gun before, the safety was still on, and her sloppy hold of the gun was perhaps he biggest indication<br/>She stared at the young man laying on the bed while she debated whether to shoot him or question him.<br/><br/>"You shouldn't be moving. Who are you?"<br/><br/>A slight quiver moved in her hands making the gun shift slightly, why did the tv make it look so easy to hold a gun they seemed heavy after a couple of minutes. Watching him while holding the gun, she felt silly but it was her safety or him harming her, though considering his condition he didn't look to be in any shape to move. None the less her green eyes never left him but was clear that she was looking over the bandages and stitching she had done, mostly looking to his shoulder before meeting his gaze again.<br/><br/>"Why were you shot and on my doorstep? What happened to you?"<br/><br/>Her hands were unsteady as she moved her left hand from the gun to wipe it down the side of her clad blue jean thigh, swesty from holding the gun and bad nerves. She thought she should check on his wounds but now that he was awake she didn't want to be too close to him there was no telling if he had other weapons or if he would knock her out if she got too close to him. She might have saved his life from bleeding out but she wasn't going to risk her life to make sure.