Chase J. Vein

I jolted awake as something grazed my side. Not her sneaking into my bed, not the fact she’s practically laying on me. It was her fingers, her hand had slipped from it’s place on my chest down to the side of my ribs. She twitches her fingers in her sleep. Its actually cute.

I pat her head as she sleepily groans and wraps her arms around my neck. “What’s wrong? A nightmare?” Sophie yawned, laying her head on my shoulder. “No. That’s not even possible with you by my side. Did your bandages changed, since we’re both awake?” I asked, gently gliding my hand from her head to her back and feeling the patch job I did earlier through her shirt.

Sophie sleepily and softly mumbles a response, that I don’t quite catch so I asked her to repeat herself. She said no, this time I noticed the slight rasp in her voice. I made a mental to make her hot tea with honey to help with that. We went back to bed without incident for the rest of the night.

That morning Sophie wasn’t by my side. She had already gotten up and stared breakfast, as the smell of coffee and bacon greets me in the hall. I sigh, shaking my head. I’m certain I told to rest today, especially with her injuries. I find her in the kitchen, at the stove, eggs now sizzling in the pan. I clear my throat to get her attention. She turns to looks at me and musters a small smile despite the pain she’s in.

It was brutal. Her lip is split, some of her teeth are missing, her left eye was removed and a few finger tips of her right hand. Let’s not forget the slash marks on her back. I wonder what was going through her head during all that, did she think she’d die? Was she still holding out hope? Could she even think of anything other than the torture inflicted on her?